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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24361375">Tell me It's Okay</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stressedspidergirl/pseuds/Stressedspidergirl'>Stressedspidergirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Memories, Comfort, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Healing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Verbal, Past Child Abuse, Personal Growth, Romantic Fluff, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:07:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>73,139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24361375</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stressedspidergirl/pseuds/Stressedspidergirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt has been told his whole life that witchers do not have emotions. He is raised by cold unfeeling teachers who teach him he is less than. A mutation, a tool to be used in exchange for coin. </p><p>He hangs onto this as tightly as he can for as long as he can. Until people enter his life and throw all of what he's believed and held to be true up on its head. </p><p>Tell me it's okay/To live life this way/Sometimes I want you to stay/I know it's a shame</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>545</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Best Geralt</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thank you to ahh-fuck on tumblr for editing. I am so sorry I cannot spell anyone's names right ever. Or use commas. I appreciate you. </p><p>I will add content warnings at the top of each chapter if necessary.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   (This chapter is mostly a little more set up. We'll launch into the story next chapter. I am not a bonafide expert in all forms of child abuse and conditioning, but I am trained in how to look for it and I've seen a lot of fallout in various ways. I'm exploring some of that here. As well as growth and moving past it. I was weirdly heavily influenced by the Tarzan Soundtrack and several songs by First Aid Kit, most notably Shame, Wolf, and Stay Gold, along with And So It Goes by Billy Joel. If you want to know anything about what I'm thinking here or where this is going.)      </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>       When Geralt had first left Kaer Morhen, he had had trouble believing everything he had been taught about humans was true. Times had been changing, and the general public had been turning on witchers. He had left, expecting to make some kind of fortune, a name for himself, and to live differently than he had lived in the keep. He had expected fear to stop dogging his footsteps. He had been wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         And yet, when he had killed his first monster, he had learned every single cynical training master had been correct. The girl had not thanked him, he had not done a noble deed, he had simply killed a rapist, and terrified normal people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         His life, as promised, had been full of miserable hardship, frequent wounds, and constant discomfort. It was near impossible to get a room in some towns, and yet in others he did just fine. He had some friends across the continent, at least until Blaviken. There, he had managed to turn himself into an enemy of most people, and with his distinctive white hair it wasn’t as if he was easy to hide. The alderman had turned on him, but without arresting or killing him at the very least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         Stregobor had made his life even worse, spreading disdain for witchers all because Geralt hadn’t wanted to help him. They had a history as it was, and it wasn’t the first time Stregobor had fucked him over. The sorcerer had almost gotten him killed all thanks to general maliciousness and a faulty hourglass. Geralt was sure if he ran into Stregobor again, it would end badly for him, again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         It was for the best that he didn’t have feelings, not truly. A few vestigial memories, much like the now-useless tendon some people still had in their forearms. A reflex, perhaps, was all that remained of what it meant to feel. And if that didn’t always feel exactly true, well, he would make it true. The trials had hurt, and he had no desire to find himself back at Kaer Morhen as a failed experiment where they would attempt more trials to try and eradicate any lingering feelings of his. Not that he desired or didn’t desire, he killed monsters for coin so he could stay alive. That was it, that was all there was. He meditated to maintain control of his mind and body, he slept when and where he safely could, he ate when he could, and whenever possible, found a hot bath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         Until Posada.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         He had decided to check out a ‘doevil’ in the fields at the Edge of the World. Since no such things existed, he had been somewhat derisive with the local townsfolk looking to contract his services. While he had not been wrong, the creature had been anything but a ‘doevil’ of any kind, he had received more than he bargained for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>        The creature had been a sylvan, and while they had tussled, the creature had meant him no real harm. While they had tried riddles, and scuffles, it had near ended bloody when Filavandrel and his ilk had debated killing the witcher and Jaskier. Who had, for some gods forsaken reason seen Geralt in a tavern and decided to attach himself to the witcher like a burr on a woolen blanket. It had not displeased Geralt, since he could not feel displeasure, but it did inconvenience him, because now he had another life to protect other than his own. And he did not need that kind of encumbrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>        Nothing he had done had worked to drive the bard away, which had made things even more difficult. Not aggravating, he would have no idea what aggravation felt like. Not speaking to the bard did nothing. Not sharing supplies did nothing. Not giving details of various monster hunts did nothing. So Geralt switched tactics. He tried describing how he got his scars in gruesome detail, or at least so he’d thought. The bard simply complained he was light on details like always and had asked more questions. Just how bad did the bite of a wyvern hurt? Was a crushed ankle truly that hard for a witcher to recover from? Utterly mystified, Geralt had given up on driving away his unwanted hanger-on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>        Soon enough they were sharing whether Geralt wanted to or not. If ‘want’ was even the right word for it. He was not accustomed to having to share what little he had. It didn’t make any sense to him that the bard would add to his supplies, or share a nicer blanket, or anything else. But being devoid of feelings it would make sense he would not understand the actions of those who had them and acted on them. Jaskier noticed he was cold, and as such put their bedrolls together and spread his cloak around them both. Jaskier’s cloak was much better quality and trapped heat far better. While he could not conceive of a single reason for the bard to do this, it meant he was warmer and experienced less physical discomfort so he didn’t bother to protest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       No part of the witcher code said he had to suffer privation. Nothing he had been taught said he had to be uncomfortable. It was just that he probably would be. If Jaskier could afford better food than he could, there was no rule saying he could not eat some of it if it was offered to him. And so by that logic he was able to accept things from the bard without hesitation. To kill monsters he needed enough to eat, and he could not lose fingers or toes to frostbite and still maintain his skills as a swordsman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Another thing that made no sense to him at all was Jaskier’s lack of fear of him and total acceptance that Geralt would rarely if ever speak to him. Sometimes he would share a one-word answer or question, but much more than that was frequently out of the question. After he had made the mistake of letting Jaskier listen in on him negotiating a contract, the bard had puffed up full of righteous indignation.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Why won’t you talk to me like that? Look at you! You can speak full sentences when you want to! I thought all of that up in Posada was because of the elves and the lady of the fields, I thought it was some kind of magic. Now I know you just choose to be taciturn and silent with me on purpose!’ </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It had been patently unfair and untrue, Geralt just had no idea what to say to him most of the time. His response was simply ‘then go.’ He would have liked to have said ‘if it bothers you so much, you can go. I never asked you along. I’ve never asked you to stay, I’ve never done anything to indicate I want you trailing me around like a lost pup. And yet here you are.’ He just couldn’t do it. Jaskier hadn’t asked a question. Hadn’t demanded an answer, had just yelled at him for a bit, panting, and left to get himself a drink at the tavern. Geralt had been surprised the bard had returned that night. He had reeked of sex and ale, making Geralt’s nose itch uncomfortably. It had been difficult to fall asleep after that. The woman the bard had chosen had a particularly noxious perfume, and with his heightened senses he could hardly breathe for the rest of the night.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <span>When he had packed up his things that morning, he had not expected Jaskier to stay with him, walking beside Roach like always. They passed through Aedirn into Temeria, heading for Redania.  </span></p><p> <span>Geralt had no way to explain to Jaskier what his training had entailed. Young witchers were not supposed to speak out of turn. They were not supposed to speak at all unless spoken to. They should use the minimum number of words to answer any question. If the training master could figure out how to answer with fewer words, you took that many raps as punishment for wasting time. The only time you were allowed to speak first or add words was when negotiating. You needed the skills to get a fair price per the risk of the monster. While adding excessive words was still punished, the training over how to negotiate was far more comfortable.</span></p><p> <span>They continued on together, and while fishing for a meal stumbled upon a djinn. Immediately Jaskier did something completely stupid. While Geralt might not know what it is to have feelings, he fully knows the difference between stupid and not stupid. Deciding to call upon the power of a trapped and angry air-spirit was the definition of stupid. Not to mention he’d seen another side of the usually pleasant bard that day. Wishing apoplexy and painful death and forced love onto others. It had been an oddly uncomfortable chain of events. Geralt would have wished for a meal, which was why they were fishing in the first place. If only Jaskier hadn’t ignored him and had left more slack on the line they would have been eating catfish, not fighting off a djinn amphora.</span></p><p> <span>When Jaskier had suffered horrible damage to his throat as a result of his impetuousness and questionable decision-making skills, Geralt had dragged him onto Roach and pushed both himself and his horse to find help. It had been more or less worthless. Chireadan had not given him the details of what tangling with Yennefer would entail at all. Just as Geralt had found he did not want the bard to lose his voice. It made no sense and made his stomach coil in knots. What should he care? Perhaps it would save him the trouble of having to keep the other man alive as they travelled. He had told the half elf he would sit on a scorpion for Jaskier. And he had meant it, which left him wondering for hours what was wrong with him.</span></p><p> <span>By the time he had reached the sorceress he had managed to figure out why he would do anything for Jaskier: It was his duty as a witcher. He was there to save the people, albeit usually for coin. Although Jaskier did often provide a roof over his head, a warm bath, body heat, and the use of his cloak and bedding. It might not be coin, but it was a creature comfort freely given. A transaction, and he was indebted to the man with the cornflower blue eyes.</span></p><p> <span>When all was said and done in Rinde, the town half destroyed, Geralt had learned something in him that should have been dead wasn’t. After kissing Yennefer he knew he would never want to kiss anyone else the way he wanted to kiss her. Sex with her had been unlike anything he had ever experienced and he would have done anything to do it again. Dangerous for a witcher to want anything other than the meeting of basic needs. He had left Rinde with Jaskier in tow.</span></p><p>
  <span>It had been easy to ditch the bard in Oxenfurt and take a contract down the Pontar. With winter coming he had no desire to spend the frozen months stranded in the cold and made his way back to Kaedwen and Kaer Morhen just as the first snows began to fall.</span>
</p><p> <span>He had spent much of his time that winter in meditation, working to quell and destroy any lingering vestigial feelings inside of himself. He had considered cutting out his own tongue rather than risk it betraying him around his companions. The urge to talk, to tell Jaskier things was sometimes so overwhelming he would have, if he had had any idea of how to begin. The problem was that he shouldn’t want to tell Jaskier anything, he should just want him gone. He should not hope that they will meet up again when spring begins to thaw the land and make travel possible. In fact, he should be relieved that he will be only responsible for himself until their paths cross again.</span></p><p> <span>It had been easier to justify his longing to see Yennefer again. Sex was a primal want, and the witcher mutations hadn’t removed those from him. While it wasn’t a need, and his own hand would suffice when necessary, it had been so different with her. He had slept with plenty of whores, but there was something different about not paying. About someone who looked you in the eyes and desired you. No shame, no disgust, no vague reek of fear, nothing to indicate any distaste with the act. Not that many whores minded him, he was polite, he didn’t ask for much, and as such he wasn’t treated too oddly. There were plenty of monsters who looked like normal men, and whores had plenty of experience with those. There were also monsters who were nothing to be afraid of, and the women were well aware Geralt was one of them. No one looking to hurt you would say things like ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’</span></p><p> <span>He stopped in Vengerberg on his way to a contract in Guleta. He’d made his way through Kaedwen trying to decide what to do with himself. Several contracts, little to eat, and a few non-life-threatening injuries had perhaps clouded his judgement and he’d found himself looking up the sorceress. She’d welcomed him with open arms, a hot bath, and several warm meals. Not to mention she had let him share her bed. In that time he’d recovered and moved on to the contract further south. Then, unable to help himself, he’d gone back to her. If pressed for a reason he could not have said why.</span></p><p> <span>She had notified him of contracts she heard of through her own networks, and he had taken them. Sometimes she was able to portal him there, much to his and Roach’s disgust. Neither one of them liked walking through those cold black holes into an abyss. He was usually left to make his own way back, but at least it saved him some time overall. He was also never required to make his way back, either. Sometimes he felt a bit like a housecat, allowed out to wander as it willed and if it came back, all the better. And if not, well, there were other cats.</span></p><p> <span>She did not mind his silences, or his one-word answers and questions. She knew what he was thinking. She could have entire conversations with him without him ever having to open his mouth. Although, she did eventually stop answering him unless he verbalized a response to her. It was easier after a while, sharing books, talking about abusive rulers, that sort of thing. History was easy, too, because he could recite answers to her just like he might have back in his schooling at the temple in Ellander, or at the keep.</span></p><p>
  <span>          While he did not like when she lost her temper at him, he bore it. And eventually grew brave enough to push back. She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever really met before. The first time he’d snapped back he’d expected to find himself deposited in the middle of a frozen wasteland with no memory of how he’d gotten there. It hadn’t happened. They had bickered. He had left of his own free will, which surprised him, and then come back a few hours later feeling calmer. It had just been adrenaline, he told himself, not anger. Witchers couldn’t feel.</span>
</p><p> <span>He ran into Jaskier on another contract, and was not unhappy to see the other man. They traveled together while he took down a bruxa and then he found himself drawn back to Vengerberg. No magic. His medallion wasn’t so much as twitching. No, he just felt like it would be alright to be there. A place where he had food, a roof, a warm place to sleep, and intellectual stimulation alongside the physical. It was as much a haven as he could have imagined while growing up. While Yennefer lost her temper and threw things around and was horrible at any kind of compromise, she never hit him. She never deliberately sought to hurt him or wound him. It was a strange kind of life. Until finally he moved on.</span></p><p> <span>He faced down Foltest’s daughter and rescued her from being a striga. Afterwards, he recuperated in Ellander in Melitele’s temple until Jaskier came to find him. The bard had heard Geralt was injured and came to see him. It was good to see Jaskier again, and Geralt had found it was slightly easier to talk to the bard. Not as easy as he might like, but sometimes he was able to express a thought or two. Maybe get in a full sentence, and when he couldn’t, if he stared at the bard’s lute long enough Jaskier would sing or play and any need to have a conversation would be swept away by the music.</span></p><p> <span>He had suffered some interesting events in Cintra, but he had six years before he would need to deal with the fallout of that particular incident. It had been nice to see Mousesack again. The druid was not shy of admitting their friendship and it had gotten him out of some miserable scrapes here and there. Not to mention it had stopped Calanthe from having his head decorating a pike on her castle walls. He sometimes wondered what Mousesack got out of their friendship.</span></p><p> <span>He understood with Jaskier that the bard got inspiration for songs, and fame for being ‘trusted’ to travel with a witcher. And he got laid quite a bit for being brave enough to travel around with a monster. Geralt had greatly disliked when they had traveled to Oxenfurt and Jaskier had wanted to introduce Geralt to some of his friends. They had treated him much like they might treat a bear on a chain. A curiosity, a horrible beast trained to perform some tricks, but nothing of any value of its own beyond its strangeness. The bard had seemed mostly oblivious, and Geralt couldn’t fault him. It wasn’t as if he tried to keep up with the conversation or pay much attention. And he had absolutely refused to do any ‘sword tricks’ until they’d mostly given him up as a mute. It had been underwhelming.</span></p><p>
  <span>The only good part of their time in Oxenfurt had been having access to the library. Geralt had never seen so many books, not since the sacking of the keep. But some of these books had nothing to do with anything important. It was odd to read a book of stories and fables without being asked to look for the truths behind them. He could just sit in a chair, in the library, and read as he pleased. It was somewhat like his time with Yennefer. Calm, peaceful, and given to quiet contemplation. Outside of the occasional drama and fuss. His presence had unsettled and upset some of the students and teachers. For others he had been a source of fascination. They had hounded him, trying to seek answers he couldn’t have given them even if he’d wanted to. With his enhanced hearing he had been well aware of how people thought of the ‘dumb albino witcher’ the bard had acquired. As if Geralt was a possession Jaskier could purchase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was perhaps why they had purged witchers of emotions. A normal man would be enraged at such treatment. A normal man would perhaps rise to the challenges, show off his skills and mastery, and would as such find himself swinging from the gallows. Geralt was not a normal man, and Geralt had bitten his tongue, and stayed silent, and crushed himself small. He left Oxenfurt with all of his belongings and his limbs firmly attached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was frustrating to be around people who didn’t think he had anything to offer other than brute force. While it wasn’t a new experience, he had gotten somewhat accustomed to Yennefer taking his intelligence for granted. She never over explained things or treated him like a simpleton. Overall Jaskier didn’t either, but at times he put Geralt’s teeth on edge. Finally, one night around the campfire he had snapped, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not stupid.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <em><span>Fear had automatically swamped him. Or at least a conditioned fear response. He had frozen; eyes wide with horror that he had said anything out loud. No one had asked him his opinion and speaking out of turn was incredibly stupid. Surely now the bard would give in to the urge to cane him, and he would have to take it, rather than risk angry villagers tying him to a stake and burning him alive. Or hanging him after a solid beating. Perhaps they would draw and quarter him instead? No one would allow him to defend himself and let him escape consequences.</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know you’re not,” Jaskier had frowned.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt had been confused and lost, this was not how the exchange went. He spoke out of turn, and then he got hurt for it. Sometimes, when he knew the punishment was inevitable or just absolutely worth it, he would dig himself into a deeper hole. This was not one of those times, and he’d sat there by the fire, utterly dumbstruck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why would you think I felt you were stupid?” Jaskier pressed, brows furrowing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You talk to me as if I haven’t lived more history than you’ve read,” Geralt tells him flatly, hoping that’s the end of the conversation. It’s the truth, at least. And he had been asked to share his reasoning. So he had. There could be no punishment for that, could there? Besides, the bard wasn’t strong enough to truly hurt him, was he? He wasn’t particularly delicate but he wasn’t strong like Vesemir. Or any of the other training masters. He could take whatever abuse the bard wanted to inflict on him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry, you just don’t speak much, it’s hard to judge. I know you aren’t stupid, Geralt. I’ve never thought that. Not once. Perhaps a little thick about some specific things, but not in general. You’d be long dead if you weren’t incredibly intelligent. It’s just, when you aren’t responding any, I end up making more noise than I need to so that I can fill up the spaces.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Like now?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes,” Jaskier snorts. “Exactly like now. Can you forgive me?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“For what?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hurting your feelings?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Can’t hurt what isn’t there,” Geralt told him affably. “At least now I know why you make so much fuss over everything.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“To fill up the spaces.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, good, I’m glad this is what we’ve come to understand. Not that you should talk more,” Jaskier had laughed. “Or that I wouldn’t mind conversation from you. I like when you add your insight. It’s very…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Insightful?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, fuck off.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <span>Jaskier had not known what to think when he had met Geralt. The other man had been nothing like what he’d expected a witcher to be. Geralt had chosen to help people when given the chance, often times for a pittance rather than what he should have been owed. When he heard of a contract but people threw stones at him, he frequently waited until nightfall and would consider taking the monster on regardless. It depended on how dangerous it was, and if he thought perhaps making his way back through later would result in a warmer welcome. He had expected a witcher to be devoid of all feeling, nearly inhuman, and while intelligent, intelligent in a predator way rather than a human way.</span></p><p> <span>The more time he spent around the witcher, the more he learned everything he thought he knew about them was wrong. Or at least this particular one didn’t fit the mold. Geralt rarely discussed much of anything with him, unwilling to be drawn into conversations. He could be coaxed into a sentence here or there but seemed to prefer one word answers, no matter how simple they made him seem.</span></p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hadn’t even known that Geralt could communicate in full sentences until he heard him negotiate a contract.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not enough coin.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What? That’s a hundred crowns!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“For a pack of creatures you can’t even identify? You expect me to go out into the dark with no idea what I’m facing for barely enough coin to purchase a room in an inn and a bath?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re a damn witcher! It’s what you do! The coin should be a bonus, you murderous beasts were made to kill, so kill damnit! The monsters, not us!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I hardly see much difference right now,” Jaskier had interjected idly. He had ignored Geralt’s glare but hadn’t bothered to speak up again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I kill monsters for pay. If the pay is too low, I walk.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We don’t have more to give you!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt slapped the contract down on the table. “I can read. Here the offer says two hundred. Not one, but two. Double. So I am telling you, you honor the contract, I bring you the corpse as proof, you pay me, and we pretend none of this happened. I won’t stay on, I’ll move to the next town over and you needn’t see me again. Or, you continue to kick up a fuss, I walk away, perhaps someone you care about dies, and you wish you’d paid the fee you advertised.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fine! You fucking bastard!” The man spat at Geralt’s feet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I will take half the coin up front, in case you decide to continue your lying streak. You will have, as collateral, my horse and whatever gear I don’t take with me on the hunt. When I get back, you will give me the other half of my pay, and I will collect my property and go. Are we clear?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I won’t shake hands with a mutant such as yourself. But aye, damnit, just as you said it will be.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I will be staying behind to watch that the witcher’s things don’t mysteriously vanish while he risks his life for an ungrateful pisspot such as yourself. And before you decide to test me, just remember I am quite famous. And many people are very fond of me across many kingdoms. If you think your life is unpleasant now, I can assuredly make it worse.” Jaskier smiled broadly, using a grin he had learned from one of his history teachers at Oxenfurt whenever a student fell asleep in class. That particular teacher had been rather fond of carrying a small riding crop with him for such occasions.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <span>Geralt had been surprisingly sensitive to the moods of others, and initially Jaskier had chalked it up to his heightened senses and training. With more exposure to the witcher, he found it came out of genuine compassion -even if Geralt would insist it absolutely did not because he felt no such thing. He wasn’t capable of it. Which was utter bullshit. He had seen his friend happily entertaining the village children while the bard booked them a room at the inn. Not everyone approved of letting children near such a ‘vicious monster,’ but once they saw Jaskier with him and unharmed it tended to help. Not to mention the fact Jaskier was absolutely unafraid of touching Geralt, touching his things, drinking from his ale cup, or just in general being a horrific nuisance. The witcher always tolerated him with good grace. He had asked about it once.</span></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why must you go out of your way to treat me like a pet?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jaskier had been utterly shocked Geralt had bothered to initiate a conversation much less speak in more than monosyllables. It had taken him a few minutes to gather his wits. “Think about it, Geralt. If they see me fussing with your hair in a way that clearly aggravates you and you don’t kill me, what are the odds you will kill their children?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hm.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <span>As they got more used to each other, Jaskier was more able to read his moods and body language and knew when he wanted to ask a question. While sometimes he truly had no idea what Geralt could possibly want to know, he learned several ways of asking a question that allowed Geralt to respond and also ask his own. Frequently, his questions were about emotions and what it was like to have feelings. Usually more framed as an attempt to understand why Jaskier did things the way he did, and not in terms of himself. After all, as Geralt frequently reminded Jaskier, he had no feelings and couldn’t conceptualize them in terms of himself.</span></p><p> <span>Another thing the bard had learned that he hated was Geralt was almost incapable of asking for help. He also wasn’t entirely aware of his own needs. While Geralt knew he had to eat, he also knew he could go several days without food and so when their packs were low he went without. Jaskier honestly hadn’t noticed, which horrified him in ways he couldn’t explain. He had noticed after they had split apart for a while and reunited in Verden. Geralt had been looking gaunt and moving a little more sluggish than usual and it had taken a ridiculous amount of effort for Jaskier to determine the source of the change.</span></p><p> <span>The witcher had been emaciated and coming upon the brink of starvation. Jaskier had badgered him for hours before they had stopped to make camp and Geralt had stripped out of his armor and shirt. His skin had looked stretched across his bones like he was curing it for leather. The next major town they hit on their way to Brugge, Jaskier had spent exorbitant sums on food and a comfortable room for them to stay in while Geralt recovered. He was also learning that Geralt did not sleep properly often and was truly horrible at taking care of himself because he didn’t see a need to.</span></p><p> <span>The bard had been almost tempted to drag Geralt back to Aedirn and Vengerberg to see if the witch would take him back simply because at least he’d been well fed and clean when he’d lived there.</span></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t you feel hunger?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So why not eat?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No coin.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know you can hunt.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Too tired.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s not it, I know you. You can set snares just fine. Or grub up a tuber or some berries.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No good hunting.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah. You mean you worry the peasants you pass would go hungry if you killed a rabbit they might never catch?” Jaskier looked to the sky as if a voice would answer him in place of Geralt’s taciturn silence. “You have to eat, because you have to keep up your health to kill monsters so you can get more coin. When was the last time you bathed somewhere other than a stream or puddle?” The bard had worked more soap into his hands and carefully started washing more muck out of Geralt’s hair. “You wouldn’t ask Roach to carry you without feed for weeks, or grass to crop. She’d die. You also walk her so she doesn’t get worn out or lamed when you’ve ridden her a long ways. You have to take at least half as good care of yourself as you do the damned horse.” He had been somewhat amused to see the witcher falling asleep, apparently enjoying the sensation of fingers massaging his scalp. However, Jaskier’s tirade was far from finished. “Geralt!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Shh,” the witcher had rebuked him, closing his eyes, and leaning into the touch. Jaskier hadn’t had the heart to keep pressing him after that. He had instead watched as Geralt fell asleep in the bath, trusting Jaskier to finish cleaning his hair.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <span>While overall he was fairly sure he was unsuccessful teaching Geralt to take better care of himself, he did notice problems earlier on. It was easier to notice when Geralt’s head started to droop just a bit, and to decide he was simply ‘too tired’ to go on and they needed to make camp or stop and eat before going on. He learned different signs for when Geralt was in pain, and how severe it was, and berated him soundly every time he let a wound fester without proper treatment. Occasionally they’d split apart for a few months only to run into each other again and Jaskier would take up dogging Geralt’s footsteps until the vagaries of fate pulled him away. He was always pleased to note, however, that Geralt never looked as bad as he had in Verden.</span></p><p> <span>After Caingorn they had headed west. No real destination in mind. They were well enough supplied that they could afford to travel at a somewhat leisurely pace. Jaskier continued to pester Geralt and occasionally found himself wishing he hadn’t.</span></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And what would be so bad about all that?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“A whipping.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah.” His voice had dried up in his throat. “But… when you were just children?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Discipline.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“A whipping?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Children need discipline,” Geralt had repeated.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I see. Of course. That… that quite makes sense. Of course. How could I be so silly?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What?” he’d demanded, deeply unsettled by Jaskier’s odd jabbering.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I just, no one ever whipped us. Not that I’m aware of. Sure, a switch, or in the case of one professor a riding crop. But, Geralt. A whip?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hard life,” he’d shrugged.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know,” Jaskier had said softly, knowing if he apologized Geralt wouldn’t understand. The gesture would be meaningless. Not unlike how Geralt had long since given up on shaking hands to seal contracts and now when people held their hands out he just stared blankly. Without humanity behind things, without feeling, without veracity, it was meaningless.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <span>“What kind of monsters do you think you’d like to run into?”</span></p><p> <span>“None,” Geralt grunted from Roach’s saddle, looking at him oddly.</span></p><p> <span>“Well, then how will you gain enough coin for a hot meal and a nice bath?”</span></p><p> <span>“Don’t need one.”</span></p><p> <span>“Yes, but you like them. I know you. We’ve been friends long enough that I know what you like. I know your favorite meals, I know you like warm baths. I also happen to know how much you do enjoy a kip on an actual bed in a decent inn. Especially after weeks on the road.”</span></p><p> <span>“Unnecessary,” Geralt argued back, uninterested in talking about this further. Jaskier knew if Geralt had wanted to keep talking he would have expanded the conversation some or tried to make some kind of eye contact rather than just bite off the shortest answers possible.</span></p><p> <span>“If you weren’t a witcher, what would you want to be?”</span></p><p> <span>“Can’t want,” Geralt had reminded him.</span></p><p> <span>“Bullshit. Your body wants food, your mind wants rest, your cock wants sex, you know damn well what wanting is.</span></p><p> <span>“Not very poetic,” Geralt had hummed, still refusing to engage. Then he’d eyed Jaskier slyly. “If not bard, what?” seeming almost pleased with his ability to turn the conversation away from himself.</span></p><p> <span>“Oh, a viscount,” Jaskier said breezily, and laughed when Geralt choked in response. “Yes, I’d be Viscount Julian de Lettenhove, and I would fall in love with a Duchess and sing songs for her as long as my heart desired.”</span></p><p> <span>“Honest?” Geralt presses, eyeing him oddly and Jaskier knows what he’s really asking.</span></p><p> <span>“You know how to speak in sentences, Geralt. Try it.”</span></p><p> <span>The witcher had snorted at him in disgust, spit on the path and lightly kicked Roach into a faster walk.</span></p><p> <span>“What you’re feeling right now is annoyance!” Jaskier called after him, slipping his lute from his back to his chest so he could walk and play.</span></p><p> <span>Many miles later, Jaskier had slowly convinced Geralt to describe some physical sensations to find out if they matched up to human feelings. He had felt that perhaps if he could draw some parallels it would make Geralt less resistant to being honest with himself. Their conversations were stilted at best, but it fostered a different kind of trust between them, something fragile and new.</span></p><p> <span>“Palms sweat, stomach hurts,” Geralt offered, eyes roving as he tried to think of other symptoms he could register that Jaskier might translate into a feeling. “Headache, sometimes. Nausea?”</span></p><p> <span>“Perhaps spoiled clams?” the bard suggested and then laughed when he saw Geralt huff. “Could be nervous. I know when I’m about to do something I don’t want to do I frequently feel nauseous. Especially when I first started performing. Oh, I would sweat like a pig until I had the audience singing along with me. Or stamping their feet, or just… listening. When I knew they were my audience now, not just a collection of people. Or, when as a boy I knocked over a very expensive vase my mother was fond of. I had to tell her the truth of course, but all the same I wasn’t sure how she would react and my stomach twisted in knots.”</span></p><p> <span>“Did not.”</span></p><p> <span>“Of course not literally, I suppose I could say it like you did, it hurt, I was nauseous. But that’s not very poetic is it? And you seem to think I always have to wax poetical or I’m somehow doing something wrong when I talk. Then you get frustrated I won’t speak plainly for you. So please, Geralt, which would you prefer?”</span></p><p> <span>“Quiet,” the witcher supplies without taking so much as a second to think.</span></p><p> <span>Jaskier knew by now that the little look Geralt gave him out of the corner of his eye was his version of a smile. He still puffed himself up, knowing that was what Geralt wanted. “You asked!” he protests, happy to put on a small show if it will amuse his friend. “You started the conversation! You don’t get to decide to just end it! That’s not how this works! Didn’t they teach you manners at your witcher school?”</span></p><p> <span>“No,” Geralt tells him after a moment’s pause and careful consideration. “Elbows off the table. Please and thank you,” he mimics and Jaskier knows he’s hearing an impression of long dead training masters. Geralt had surprised him many a time with his impersonations. With his enhanced hearing, Geralt was well able to mimic tone and vocal pattern when he felt like it. “Children are to be seen, not heard,” he continues, a small crease between his brows. “Chew with your mouth closed. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.”</span></p><p> <span>Jaskier isn’t sure if he should smile or not, he can hear the stuffiness in Geralt’s rumbly baritone. The precision of the words spoken in a way Geralt would never say them. He settles on a somewhat bland smile, a little unsettled. “That sounds rather miserable. So you learned table manners, perhaps, but not the very fine rules of conversation.”</span></p><p> <span>Geralt glances at him, and Jaskier hates that he can tell the memories weren’t fond ones or even amusing ones. The witcher lifts a shoulder. “Yen helped some,” he offers.</span></p><p> <span>“I’m sure she did,” Jaskier agrees quietly, rather than make a jibe at the sorceress’ expense. Usually it’s worth it to get Geralt riled up over it, but right now it seems unnecessarily cruel.</span></p><p> <span>“You talk more,” Geralt adds, sensing the bard’s discomfiture and not sure of how to help.</span></p><p> <span>“Yes, I suppose I do,” Jaskier smiles. He lightly squeezes Geralt’s shoulder and brushes his cheek before standing up to stretch. “Are you intending to walk us all the way to Poviss?”</span></p><p> <span>“Contract,” Geralt reminds him firmly.</span></p><p> <span>“So we will walk until we find one, and if it takes us until we cross the mountains and hit the coast, then so be it,” Jaskier sighed.</span></p><p> <span>“Alright?”</span></p><p> <span>“Of course, Geralt. Just tired. We’ve been walking for weeks without so much as a barn in sight. You darting awake at every noise in the night makes it a little hard to sleep.” Jaskier feels his heart break when he sees Geralt’s shoulders round. “I wouldn’t change anything about how we travel. At least not you and I. I would do anything I could to make people treat you kindlier. But, Geralt. I am so glad you’re alert and ready to keep us safe against any danger. I hope you know that.”</span></p><p> <span>Geralt just grunted, curling into his bedroll and turning to look up at the stars above them. Hesitant, and more than a little afraid to ask, he glances over at his friend and licks his lips before opening his mouth and shutting it.</span></p><p> <span>“What?”</span></p><p> <span>The witcher shifts uncomfortably in his bedroll. It isn’t allowed. He isn’t some infant, some juvenile simpleton begging for a scrap of kindness and entertainment. He glances around a bit, trying to find some sort of lie but can’t help himself from staring back up at the stars.</span></p><p> <span>“Oh,” Jaskier says quietly, watching Geralt look away and back up at the sky several times, throat and jaw working as he wrestled with himself. “Well, let me curl in closer, so I can point at them while I talk.”  </span></p><p> <span>It’s a simple matter to shift their bedrolls so Jaskier can shift his head onto Geralt’s chest, using him as a pillow. “There, that one, the belt, the Hunter. There’s many stories about him across the continent and he has many different names, but you knew that. Perhaps one day I’ll find a story of the Witcher written in the sky, instead. Who knows?” he keeps his voice in the simple cadence he uses for telling stories. “But, for now, we’ll stick to what is. And I will tell you what my mother told me about how the Hunter found himself immortalized among the stars…” </span></p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Here starts the plot. If you've read the books, I'd just like to note that occasionally people ARE actually nice to Geralt, and I get sick of everyone sucking. So, the "Current" plotline of the story is, he meets some people who need him to investigate a wyvern sighting, and in exchange for that he and Jaskier get fed and have a dry place to sleep.<br/>I'll be bouncing around with flashbacks, and I will put any kind of TW at the start of a chapter if there should be any. I would say everything is canon typical, so if you read the books without issue, you should be okay. But again, I will post any kind of content warning I can think of in the starting notes.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to my buddy on tumblr, with the funniest username I can think of, for not only editing this so it is less bad, but for also letting me talk to them about all sorts of random crap. (aah-fuck this is for you). And special thanks to Ruusverd who continually reads random snippets of this I can't wait to share and tells me it's good. And who has been "making" me watch The Hexer, which is probably where my version of Jaskier/Dandelion has really started to solidify when I don't want him to be like book!Dandelion. </p><p>And big shoutout to everyone who commented on the last chapter. Meant a lot, fic has been my COVID19 coping method of choice, and having people respond and encourage me is pretty much what keeps me writing. I'm almost done with the story already, and I am HOPING to update weekly, but I make no promises my beta has time for that. (Or if I somehow don't finish it before we catch up on posting it?) </p><p>No content warnings apply.<br/> (as of 6/6 now featuring fanart! from bethlammen on tumblr!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As they walk, Jaskier starts to notice fencing and signs of a human settlement. Lifting his head, he glances around and is fairly sure they’ve come upon a farm. A a small girl, perhaps three or four years old is picking flowers by the side of the road. There’s a house visible in the distance, but it’s awfully far for a small child to have wandered. Geralt immediately looks around for a dead body, half expecting to find the child’s mother dead in a ditch. Nothing. When she notices his hair peeking out from under his cloak as he crouches down to talk to her, she pushes the fabric off his head to twirl her fingers into his hair. He barely breathes as he asks her where her ma and pa are. She points at the house and said she wanted the orange flowers.</p><p>He looks over and sees that while there are what seems like thousands of wildflowers much closer, none are the color she’s currently collecting. The child will be missed soon enough he supposes, as he offers her a seat on his shoulder. Before she accepts, she splays small fingers under his eye and he freezes, waiting for her to scream or reject him. She simply says ‘pretty.’ When he lifts her up, she tangles a hand back into his hair to help her hold on and keep her balance. She stuffs the flowers into her small apron -probably made more to humor her than for any practical purpose- and occasionally pats Geralt’s head and tells him again, his hair is pretty and he’s nice to take her home. </p><p>When screaming reaches his ears, he knows the little girl’s name is Ivana, and he tells Jaskier, “Make noise, her mother is in the fields looking for her.” The bard’s trained lungs will project far better than his will. His lungs are trained to breathe evenly and slowly in all things. He will endure if he keeps his heart slow and his breathing calm. </p><p>“Over here! We’ve found her!” Jaskier calls, his voice ringing stridently over the fields. He’s not sure how she could hear him from so far that only Geralt can hear her frantic calls, but all the same he sees how Geralt tilts his head and nods to himself. </p><p>They speed up, Geralt’s stride long and even as the woman comes pelting across the grass, crushing flowers, her skirts hiked up over her knees to keep them out of her way. She gasps slightly when she sees Geralt and the brightly dressed bard, not sure what they will do to her or her daughter. She can see the swords on the roan mare. “I haven’t coin, please don’t hurt her,” she pants, coming to a halt in front of them. </p><p>Jaskier feels Geralt shrivel. “We just saw her picking flowers and knew she’d be missing,” he explains. “We don’t want coin. Not for returning a toddler to her mother,” he protests. When she reaches out for her child, and Geralt obliges by leaning to hand her off, the girl shrieks in displeasure. </p><p>Geralt freezes, one arm half coming up to ward the mother off, but unsure. Why wouldn’t she want to go back? It’s Jaskier who saves the situation, laughing easily as he watches the toddler cling to Geralt. “I see she’s gotten quite attached,” he tells the anxious mother. “Here, Ivana, come down, he’s very tired and he’s not a pony. You brought flowers for your ma, didn’t you? You can’t show her very well from up there,” and holds out his arms. The girl allows Geralt to pass her over, and he swiftly deposits her on the ground where her mother relaxes immediately. She shows the flowers and offers Geralt one. </p><p>“Are you a witcher?” she asks, fussing with the girl’s hair affectionately. </p><p>“Yes,” Geralt says, careful not to open his mouth too much. His teeth are a bit too white, and his canines a bit too sharp. Not fangs, but some people choose to see them that way. They’d grown in sharper when he’d lost his baby teeth, he’d seen plenty of other humans with teeth like his, but against his pale skin and yellow eyes, the effect was more noticeable. More monstrous. </p><p>“There’s a wyvern. My man, when he gets back from ploughing, he can show you. I see Ivana has taken to you. If you’ll watch her while I bundle herbs, I’ll feed you both lunch.” She isn’t afraid of witchers. “We don’t have much coin, but there’s a bounty on the beast. You can turn it in if you travel up the road a bit. In the meantime, I can offer you a place to sleep, some feed for your horse, and a meal in a few hours once I’ve finished my tasks.” </p><p>Jaskier knows Geralt is well pleased with the idea just from the shift of his shoulders. “Geralt’s a wonderful babysitter,” he smiles. “I can help you with the chores, I’m sure. Just put me to work. My name is Jaskier, that is Geralt, and you are?” </p><p>“Oh gods above, I’m so sorry, I’m Melina.” She reaches out to shake Jaskier’s hand and the bard accepts warmly. When she tries to do the same for Geralt however, the bard gives her a look. She drops her hand, casting him a mild, curious look before turning to her daughter. “Ivana, you mind Master Geralt, or I’ll give you such a hiding you won’t sit for weeks, do you hear me?” </p><p>“Yes, Mama,” she promises. “I will show him where to put the horse,” she says proudly and Geralt makes a ‘lead the way’ gesture at her with a little bow that makes her giggle. He takes Roach’s reins from Jaskier and follows the girl child to the barn. </p><p>“He won’t hurt her?” </p><p>“No, he’d die in her defense in a heartbeat.” </p><p>“But he can’t shake hands?” </p><p>“He wouldn’t know that’s what you wanted, most people won’t willingly touch a witcher” Jaskier tells her. Not sure if that makes it worse or puts her more at ease. “You don’t seem much afraid of him, considering how we started.” </p><p>“Witchers help people,” she smiles faintly. “My pa would have died long before he met my ma if not for a witcher who saved him on the road. Took a bad rake across his face, though, the witcher. My Pa taught us, even if we don’t know much reading or writing, history turns. People used to trust witchers. Then they tried to kill them all. And they’ll trust them again. Any man willing to risk dying to save others can’t be all bad.” </p><p>“That is what I’ve been saying.” He glances up to see the black-clad witcher come back into view with Ivana swinging his hand happily. He can’t hear her, but he knows she is chattering nonstop. </p><p>“Is he... simple?” she asks softly, watching as her daughter teaches Geralt a new clapping game he hasn’t seen before. He seems to be devoting all his energy to the game. </p><p>“No,” Jaskier breathes. “No, he’s brilliant,” his heart aches. “Will they be alright out here? Your man won’t come home and try and beat him with a stick?” </p><p>“No, Roddy would never. He’ll come from the back fields as is. My Roderick is a good man. How could he hit your Geralt for playing with our daughter?” </p><p>“People have done worse for far less,” Jaskier says bitterly. He has no idea why he’s sharing with her. Perhaps months on the road of people being truly horrible to Geralt have made him desperate to talk to someone who isn’t. Someone who is kind. </p><p>“I see.” She shows Jaskier the herbs she’s drying, some to sell, some for home remedies. Vegetables to jar and pickle, and hundreds of other small tasks made near impossible by having a small child to mind. “My boys help their father in the fields, so that he can work on other tasks once they can manage the rest.” As the bard gets the knack for how to tie the herbs, she watches him a few seconds. “So what’s wrong with him?” </p><p>“Nothing,” Jaskier protests. “Nothing at all,” his heart aching for Geralt as he speaks. “People, people are the ones who are wrong. He does everything he can to not draw attention. The less he talks, the less he moves, the less people notice and the less likely they are to-” His head snaps up when he hears a husky chuckle from outside. “Your man early?” </p><p>“No, he doesn’t laugh like that,” she says. </p><p>“Who the fuck is that then?” he demands, peering from the small window. Ivana is pointing at something dramatically and stamping a foot and he realizes the laugh is Geralt. His heart squeezes and he blinks rapidly. He hadn’t known Geralt could laugh. Not in all the years they’d been travelling together. “Oh,” he gasps, the wind knocked out of him. </p><p>“Let them be, if she starts to have a true tantrum, I’ll rescue him. It’s about time for her to nap, she’ll be fussy soon enough.” </p><p>“Eh, he’ll be fine,” Jaskier tells her, rubbing at his eyes with a knuckle. “He’s faced worse than a grumpy toddler before.” </p><p>“Perhaps, Master Jaskier. But he cannot swing his sword to stop her from inconveniencing him.” </p><p>“He would never. Although, he might turn tail and run in here, seeking rescue,” he tries to turn the conversation somewhere else. He realizes he’s shaking as he works the herb bundles, and he takes a steadying breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be awkward,” he wipes at his eyes again. “I’ve never heard him laugh before,” his voice cracks. He’s seen Geralt with children, he’s seen the odd twitch Geralt does with his lips that’s his attempt at a smile, but he’s never seen him laugh. He realizes the difference is that no one is watching him but Ivana. He hears irritable fussing and more laughter. They both return to the window to watch.</p><p>“Are you sure he’s alright?”</p><p>Tempted to be honest, he sighs. “He’s fine.”</p><p>“He can’t keep the pattern, it’s a simple one. She’s three and she can,” she watches as her daughter stamps again, angry at Geralt for ruining the clapping game. “I’m not sure how he’d fare against a monster…” she points out.</p><p>“Watch his shoulders,” he tells her. “He’s doing it on purpose. Look, see, he knows what’s coming next, he lifts his left shoulder and then still moves his right arm. He’s doing it to teach her something, watch her. Children are sponges. His upbringing, it was all physical, no words. He’s teaching her to watch his body language, look….” He’s never been able to observe Geralt like this and feels almost guilty. This is how he would have played as a boy; this is how he would teach a younger witcher. When Ivana catches on to his shoulder movement and anticipates his ‘mistake’ she crows in delight when she catches his hands and he hugs her tightly. Jaskier tries desperately not to sob. Geralt will not hug him. He will hug back, but he will not initiate any kind of casual comfort like this... and here he is, hugging this little girl.</p><p>“Did you teach him to do that?” Melina asks softly.</p><p>“Yes,” he nods. Geralt never could have hugged that girl without Jaskier’s influence. He really had changed Geralt quite a lot. More than he’d realized. In an odd way, he had been relieved on the mountain when Geralt had exploded at him. It had hurt him, initially. Geralt had never pushed back much other than a few pitiful attempts to scare him off. He’d seemed to do whatever the bard wanted, and it had been fine at first until Jaskier had noticed a disturbing trend under it all. Then, Geralt had yelled at him. Had snapped, full of anger and hurt he didn’t know what to do with, and he’d taken it out on Jaskier. The person he spent most of his time trying to please and not offend. He had finally felt safe to say ‘if I show you the ugly side, will you go?’ and Jaskier had been able to recognize it in time to say ‘no, I will not.’ He had drawn lines in the sand, he had pushed back about his feelings, but he had not abandoned Geralt.</p><p>He remembered some of the boys from his time at Oxenfurt. Scholarship children, who had come with black eyes and bony limbs. They had simpered, and sucked up, and been perfect all the time. Until finally they weren’t. Finally, they lashed out. Finally, they knew that they could express how badly they hurt and they would not be thrown away. They were safe. And so while Geralt had panicked, and tried to apologize, and tried to beg, Jaskier had shushed him and held him. All it had done was confuse Geralt and make his anxiety far worse. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry. Couldn’t bring himself to lecture. He had chosen this, he had chosen Geralt, and while he didn’t have to keep choosing, no one else would.</p><p>Geralt deserved to be chosen. Geralt deserved someone who would choose him. Jaskier believed that with all his heart. And so he chose Geralt, again and again. He knew in his heart of hearts he always would.</p><p>He had accepted the apology. He had refused to lash back out, had not struck Geralt, or accepted any other offers of what Geralt felt fair recompense was. Geralt had started to pull up the back of his shirt and Jaskier had not understood until he saw scars that came from human hands, not monsters. He’d thought he’d seen them all. It had taken some convincing that he had no intention of punishing Geralt in any capacity for his outburst. The witcher had not understood any of it, which made Jaskier feel he had made the right decision. He had simply asked for a promise, instead.</p><p>
  <em> Try not to do it again. If you’re angry, be angry. But next time, yell at the person you’re angry at, not me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I promise, I promise. I won’t do it again. </em>
</p><p>It had been hard to explain guilt, it had been harder to explain anger, and the worst had been sorrow. He’d often found himself talking to Geralt about feelings. Especially after. Describing the physical sensations of them, the way his fists clenched in anger and his heart pounded and pulse raced, the sick twisting in his stomach that went with guilt, and at one point, Geralt had looked at him and whispered: <em> I think I feel that. I think I feel that all the time. </em>Jaskier had hugged him, ignored when Geralt went stiff as a board, and kept him close until he melted in, hugging back.</p><p>They watch for a few moments as Ivana pushes on Geralt’s cheek, trying to get him to smile. Jaskier winces, and when Melina prepares to go out and stop it, he asks her not to. “Let them play. Let her, she won’t hurt him. Or if she does, he’ll pull away a bit.” It occurs to him as he watches the toddler make faces at the witcher, and watches Geralt make them back as they laugh together, Geralt has probably never done this. “I don’t think he’s…” his throat dries out. “Unless he’s teaching her something you’d rather he didn’t, please…” he begs.</p><p>“No, we make faces at her all the time, and her brothers do far worse.”</p><p>It’s not as if he doesn’t think Geralt knows how to pull faces, it’s just he doesn’t think he’s ever had cause to. Never understood it could be done simply to amuse. When Ivana starts blowing raspberries Geralt laughs again. “Perhaps I could deter him from encouraging that particular expression,” Jaskier offers.</p><p>“Oh, it’s far too late for that,” she sighs, returning to her herb bundles. “That’s one of the first things she learned to do thanks to Anders.”</p><p>He watches as the witcher entertains the girl, keeping her cuddled up in his arms. She seems to be growing sleepier, and he’s shocked to see Geralt rock her to sleep. He has no idea if he’s doing anything else, he can’t hear them speaking from this far away. But when Ivana reaches up to put a hand against Geralt’s throat, Jaskier is convinced the witcher is humming to her. “He’s put her to sleep.”</p><p>“Oh, I can put her to bed,” she says and looks out the window again. “Or perhaps he can just sit there with her, he seems peaceful.”</p><p>Jaskier nods, swallowing back a sob. “He won’t move a muscle till she wakes again.”</p><p>“Oh, he doesn’t have to do that, she sleeps like the dead. Right scared her father and I half to death, if she hadn’t been breathing, we’d have buried her.”</p><p>The witcher settles against the apple tree they’d been playing under and dozes lightly against it. He hardly moves, afraid of disturbing the girl. The smell of apples surrounds him and his stomach gurgles miserably. There’s nothing he can do to silence it, but it doesn’t seem to bother the toddler against his chest any. He can’t reach any of the fruit in the branches, and the fruit in the dirt is rotten.</p><p>Jaskier looks at him and sees the way he’s looking around. “Is that an apple tree?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He goes back to help bundle the herbs. “Would it be alright if we ate a few? Just one or two?” He can tell it will be a few more hours until lunch is prepared.</p><p>“Of course, have as many as you want. We have a small orchard that we sell from, that tree is what we take from for ourselves. And for anyone wandering by in need of some food.”</p><p>“Right. I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Geralt listens carefully as he hears the door creak open and Jaskier’s footsteps approach. He doesn’t bother to move to look. He knows who it is, Jaskier won’t hurt him. Or Ivana. The girl is sucking on her thumb in her sleep and she is warm and soft in his arms and so small. His heart breaks at how small she is. The snap of apple stems and leaves rustling makes him look up. “Eat one,” he tells Geralt, holding one out. The witcher is much larger than the toddler and well able to hold her with one arm long enough to eat an apple.</p><p>Geralt shakes his head. The noise will wake her. “Loud,” he whispers. He knows Jaskier will understand the sentences he means to say. He’d just rather not waste the words.</p><p>“Her ma says she sleeps like a corpse, you won’t wake her,” Jaskier speaks in a slightly hushed voice, more for Geralt’s benefit than anything else. “Here, look,” he bites into an apple, juice running over his chin. The crunch does nothing to affect the sleeping child. He hands Geralt an apple.</p><p>Carefully, slowly, he bites into it, turning his chin into his shoulder to stop the juices from running over his face. He doesn’t want to drip apple juice on the little one in his arms. She likes him. He doesn’t want her to stop liking him. He prefers children to adults. If nothing else they can’t hit as hard. He does his best to sink his teeth into the apple as slowly as possible, to avoid making the telltale crunch sounds apples make.</p><p>He glances up when he hears a knife being drawn from the sheath, shoulders tensing. It’s just Jaskier cutting up another apple. The noise isn’t as loud as biting. Understanding dawns slowly and he allows the bard to lay out the slices on his leg where he can reach them. Chewing the apple is still louder than he’d like, but it’s far less noisy than biting in and tearing away the flesh of the fruit.</p><p>“Don’t eat the core,” Jaskier cautions him. “People think it’s abnormal, remember? I know you won’t get sick from it, and the texture doesn’t bother you much. But they have pigs and they might want the pips for planting. When lunch comes around, we’ll find out what to do with the cores, alright?”</p><p>Geralt tips his chin up to show he’s heard. Then he glances around pointedly to show there’s several cores just left in the dirt. The bard lightly kicks one with the toe of his boot to show he’s understood. Geralt has been taught time and time again not to talk unless he has to. No one cares about what he has to say. All he needs to do is prove he’s listening, and answer questions when he’s asked. In spite of all that, he can’t always help himself. “Small,” he tries to explain to Jaskier, fighting years of conditioning to get out one simple word.</p><p>“Yes, she is very small. Although we were all that small once. Maybe not for as long, but babies really are quite tiny.”</p><p>Geralt tenses when a shadow falls over them and lets himself relax again when Jaskier gently strokes his hair. Ivana fusses in his arms for a second, shifting, and he feels a moment of panic that he’s done something wrong. She settles, and he tells himself he can’t feel panic. It was just adrenaline reacting to protect a child. Natural human biology, the last vestiges of it he still has. Humans are hardwired to protect their young and kill the young of their rivals. These people mean him no ill will and he has every responsibility as a witcher to protect them.</p><p>“I’ll go back in.”</p><p>Geralt just nods again. It’s so odd how much people talk. He’s never gotten the hang of it. Not in a commonplace everyday way. Yennefer had taught him some of how to do it. What pleasantries to exchange, the formula to make people think you had manners. <em> Hello, good day, how is your family? Good day, how is your wife? </em>She understood his hesitancy to talk to people who seemed to think he was no smarter than a prized sheepdog. She had pointed out to him, as a woman in a society full of people who thought only those with cocks should have a say, she was well able to understand his reluctance to subject himself to being mocked in public.</p><p>She had explained to him she was sick of playing by their rules. Sick of making nice with people who didn’t deserve it. Sick of being told as a woman she shouldn’t speak her mind. She had broken free of a lot of it and was going to do what pleased her. Especially if that meant telling men they were stupid. Even if it <em> was </em> in public. She would be second fiddle to no one.  Quite frankly he loves when she rages at people in public, because he had fantasized about it so many times.</p><p>A few times, he had let his mouth run away with him.</p><p>He had one time, found himself flogged. That had been deeply unpleasant and he desires to never repeat the experience. Another time, a simple beating. Yet another he had found himself bent over a table and shown that he was less than. He could have fought back, but it would make things worse. It always made things worse.</p><p>Except with Yennefer. And sometimes, sometimes, when he pushed back with Jaskier, just a little… tried to assert himself just a little, it was okay. The bard backed off, the bard let him have the space, or didn’t ask again. Yennefer had taught him he could do that with some people, and they would not hurt him because of it.</p><p>He dozes off once he’s finished the apples Jaskier left him. He always feels funny when the bard looks at him with his brows pinched and lips pursed. It feels like guilt, but it isn’t, and he doesn’t know what to call it. But he feels like he’s letting the other man down, somehow, whenever he sees that expression. Geralt can’t understand it’s Jaskier holding back tears. He himself hasn’t cried since before the Changes. It’s not as if he can recognize sorrow. But there’s always a bitter edge to Jaskier’s scent when he makes that face, and a hint of salt. Geralt just knows he hates it. As much as a witcher who can’t feel can hate anything. Logically, he tells himself, the bitter smell means something is wrong, which means an inconvenience later, and so it is alright to not want to smell it again. Anyone, with or without feelings would prefer to have things be easy and calm.</p><p> </p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, I'm just going to be honest, my biggest fear writing this is I won't give due credit to how smart Geralt is in my head when I'm writing him. Or that it will be hard for people to understand how he can switch between having a seemingly normal conversation and then go into lock down and struggle with one word answers. </p><p>So I really hope that if nothing else, I never fail the characters on that front, in this fic. </p><p>I have a lot of questions about Kaer Morhen, the raising of the witcher boys, etc, and the weird behavior and other things and I could probably write multiple essays about the types of child abuse I suspect along with different mental health issues that would come out of it, along with attachment disorders, etc.</p><p> This fic I mostly try to gloss over anything like that because it's about growth and change and healing, but if you ever want to get into it and have a party, hit me up on tumblr. Or we can party in the comments here.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Go back and check out the end of chapter 2 if you have time, someone on tumblr drew me some fanart :} it's really cute. They're credited up top so if you're interested in finding them you can. I am living for soft Geralt having a peaceful moment with a sleepy toddler.</p><p>Thanks to Ahh-Fuck for editing this for me. </p><p>Thank you to those of you who have commented, it honestly does make me want to write more (as does the fanart. I wrote several pages yesterday because that just like, avalanched all this stuff I've been unable to process).<br/>I'm almost done with the writing process, and it's been fun having you guys enjoy it so much.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Content Warning: Mentions of prostitution and vague descriptions of sex. It's in italics, so you should be able to avoid it if you don't want to read it. </p><p>   </p><p> </p><p> Ivana wakes him by pushing herself away from his chest. He lets her, crestfallen. She’s too warm and she also needs to use the privy. She informs him she is going, pointing out the small outhouse, and he nods. As she walks off to do her business she brushes her fingers through his hair again, fascinated. Relief courses through him like poppy syrup, the heady feeling of knowing the girl hadn’t turned on him making him dizzy. At least, perhaps it’s relief. If he can bring himself to ask Jaskier, Jaskier will tell him.</p><p>     He always does. He’s felt this before, many times, but he hadn’t realized it was an emotion.</p><p>     He had thought those had been beaten out of him, almost quite literally, and then mutated away. Geralt feels a bit like this every time he wakes up and Jaskier is still there with him. When the bard stops off to spend some time with a comely woman, Geralt stays behind. Which means Geralt wakes up alone, wondering if the bard will come back.</p><p>     Geralt himself usually tries to avoid seeking out women. He enjoys sex, but he hates going through the process to get it. Simpler in a brothel, but he finds he doesn’t much want to pay for it, either.</p><p>
  <em> One of his first experiences with women had been in a brothel. He knew all about human anatomy and physiology but had no working concept of sex between men and women. There was no practical application at the keep, nor an explanation of the mechanics of it. None of the books around had any information, either. Humans mated for procreation, and for pleasure. Witchers could not procreate. Their mutations rendered them sterile. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The whore had been oddly kind to him. After one of his first contracts, he had found the nicest brothel he could reasonably afford without spending too much of his coin. He did not want to test the theory that witchers could not contract disease. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Geralt had not known what to do, and had admitted it, and she had not mocked him. She had taught him the very basics, and not been overly put off when he had remained silent throughout other than to ask a question or two. He didn’t know she’d thought him younger than he was. His inexperience had been sweet, and his concern of making her uncomfortable had also touched her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His offer to keep his eyes closed so she wouldn’t have to see them had amused her. Clearly he had never seen a real live naked woman before her, and she knew it. She had encouraged him to touch and to seek pleasure. He had not been especially brave or daring. But he had certainly been gentle, afraid of hurting her. When he’d come, he’d gripped the sheets rather than her, knuckles white with the force of it; clearly afraid if he’d held onto her, that he would have bruised her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> While plenty of her group was happy to discuss their clientele and mock them after, she had never once mentioned him to anyone. He had been sweet, and curious, and had thanked her, of all the odd things. He had also told her she was beautiful, which she knew he was sincere about. Idiot pup hadn’t known any better. All the same, she had not added him to the list of first timers she mercilessly mocked afterwards with the other girls in the bordellos. </em>
</p><p>      He watches Ivana make her way back to him and he lifts a brow when she holds up her hands to be picked up and carried. She’d lightly splashed her hands in the trough on the way back over and her frock and hands are wet. Bemused, he lifts her back into his arms and takes a breath before heading inside the farmhouse. He doesn’t knock. Yennefer had told him if he’d already been invited in, unless he thought he’d interrupt something he should just let himself in again. No one would think it was amiss. He wasn’t a student waiting outside of the office for permission, or a servant. If he’d been given free run of a place, he should just take it. Being awkward about it would make other people awkward in turn, and eventually he would find himself chased out again.</p><p>      The girl is still sleepy, and rests her head against his chest, quietly playing with his medallion. He doesn’t mind the metal sound of the hasp over the chain, and she lightly runs her thumb over it, careful not to yank it on his neck much. He’s never known a human to be so gentle with him. Other than perhaps Jaskier. But that’s different. Jaskier is his friend. Most children are also much rougher, still learning motor skills. He sees her mother, Milena, wears a necklace. Perhaps she’d learned to be gentle after constant reminders.</p><p>       “Oh, you can stop her,” the woman says looking up as Geralt walks in and he hunches. “If she’s not bothering you, she likes the feel of the metal under her fingers,” she lightly touches her fingertips to her own necklace and he feels pleased that his guess was right. “She used to fuss with it as a babe... though I suppose she still is a babe, at that,” she says, feeling silly. She brushes hair out of her face and watches as Jaskier continues to bundle herbs. “Ivana, can you tell the nice witcher about the herbs I have?”</p><p>       “Yes,” she says sleepily around her thumb. She points them out, telling him their names. For all she mispronounces several, he never tries to correct her. He’d been a little older than her when he’d been left to wander the woods near the keep. He was better able to speak clearer, and as such had been taught to pronounce everything correctly. The fact she’s as small as she is with a memory that capable awes him. Then again, he muses, he has no real concept of how much she should or shouldn’t know at her age.</p><p>        “I’m going to start lunch, Master bard. Do you mind continuing without me?”</p><p>        “Not at all,” Jaskier smiles. He finds he loves how easy Geralt is, here. The witcher looks around the room curiously and freezes when he sees the world’s fattest tom cat lazing in a sun patch by the window. Cats hate witchers. Jaskier follows his glance and tries not to laugh. “That is quite the fat cat,” he crows, delighted. “Oh, look Geralt, I bet his belly drags the floor, his little legs are stubs!” He’s never been sure if Geralt is afraid of cats, or if there’s more at play there, but the witcher’s reluctance to be around them has amused him for years.</p><p>        “Unfortunately for poor Tom, we now call him ‘Fatty.’ Between my boys and Ivana, they feed him so many scraps he won’t chase mice anymore. He’s the most worthless mouser now. Not much of a cat, honestly.” She has to cross the floor to get some garlic hanging by the window in a braid and nudges the cat with her toe. The animal doesn’t so much as twitch a whisker. “I keep thinking he’s dead,” she admits. “He knows if he just lays about someone will bring him food.”</p><p>       “Come pat him,” Ivana tells Geralt, wriggling in his arms. He puts her down hurriedly rather than hurt her trying to hold on, or worse, drop her.</p><p>       “No,” he says quietly, with a little shake of his head.</p><p>       “Come pat him,” she insists, taking his hand and pulling.</p><p>       Melina turns around, “Ivana!” she snaps. “He said no, when is it okay to ignore when someone says no?”</p><p>       “When it’s about chores, and farm work, and eating your vegables,” she says.</p><p>       “Is this any of those things?”</p><p>       “No,” she digs her toe into the ground, clutching the front of her apron with both hands.</p><p>       “Apologize.”</p><p>       “I’m sorry.”</p><p>       Geralt watches the interaction with trepidation, but nothing bad happens to Ivana. Her mother doesn’t spank her or scream at her. The girl isn’t even especially upset. If there had been a rule in the keep about that, and he had done what Ivana had, he wouldn’t have had time for a reminder. He would have had his hands on the wall and his britches down before he knew what happened. If he’d complained, or cried out, or shown any sign of pain the count would have started over until he could manage. At some point, you hurt so bad you couldn’t feel more, and so there was no way to truly fail. Eventually it stopped.</p><p>       “He’s soft,” she tells Geralt as a means of explanation. He nods to show he’s understood her, but he doesn’t want to talk much in front of her mother. Or anyone else.</p><p>       The bard watches Geralt under his eyelashes. He’d seen the other man tense and he knows that look of dull panic Geralt gets. “How’s about we pet the cat, and we can tell Geralt all about it. Then later, after he has heard about petting the cat, maybe he will change his mind and pet the cat too.” He glances up ruefully at his friend. “It sounds a bit like a euphemism, doesn’t it? I had no idea saying ‘pet the cat’ that many times in a row would make it sound strange.”</p><p>      Geralt snorts to show he’s heard, and he glances at Melina. She smiles as she chops vegetables and crushes garlic under the blade of her knife. It’s a bit dull, he knows just from watching. He winces when it slips on a carrot and almost cuts her finger. He divides his attention between the bard, girl, cat and woman for a few seconds. When Ivana shows Jaskier how to pet the cat’s belly, because it’s too fat to bite them or scratch them for it, he decides he can safely focus on Melina.</p><p>      “Blade’s dull,” he tells her quietly, not sure she’ll understand what he wants her to. But he can show her what he means. He pulls his belt pouch open and shows her a small whetstone. He’ll fix it for her. The words are theoretically simple, but she did not ask him to tell her. She did not ask him to fix it. </p><p>       “I’d be grateful if you’d sharpen it,” she tells him, and passes it over handle first.</p><p>       It’s nice that she knows not to hand it over blade first. Not many people do and he never likes the idea of someone thrusting anything at him blade before hilt. He sits at the table without permission and freezes, but she’s ignoring him, tearing up herbs to season their lunch. Carefully, he puts a new edge on the blade, surprised the quality of the metal is so high. This isn’t the most prosperous farm he’s seen, and she’d claimed they had little coin. But they clearly had some kind of life here. There’s signs of love and family all over.</p><p>       He passes it back when he’s done, having checked it would cut easily by cutting through one of the frayed threads of his shirt with little pressure. “Sharp,” he cautions her.</p><p>       “I’ll be mindful.” She looks over at her daughter. “Ivana, remember, stay away from Mama’s knives. What could happen?”</p><p>       “Lose my fingers!” the girl tells her wiggling them and holding her hands up in the air.</p><p>       “Do you want to lose your fingers?”</p><p>        “No, Mama.”</p><p>        “So, what do we leave alone?”</p><p>        “Knives!”</p><p>         Geralt follows the exchange with no understand of what’s happening. Why not just let the girl cut herself? She’d learn from that. He looks at her as she pats the cat’s white belly while it lays there like a slug. Those small little hands don’t need scars, or blood all over, and he wonders if he should have sharpened the knife. What if she disobeys?</p><p>        He’s broken out of his reverie when he hears people coming. He stands up from the table. He was not invited to sit, but he isn’t sure what to do with himself either. Wha he does know is that he doesn’t want anything to do with the tom cat. Jaskier watches him and raises an eyebrow, and Geralt looks away. “People,” he tells Jaskier, realizing the eyebrow is a question and he is supposed to answer.</p><p>       “Oh, good. That should be my boys, and my Roderick,” Melina smiles. “The boys will pester you. But unlike their sister, they’re old enough to know when you say you’ve had enough, you mean it. And I’m serious, Master Geralt. When you’re done letting them pester you, tell them to stop.”</p><p>       He nods once, not sure what to do beyond that. He shifts his weight as subtly as possible, deeply uncomfortable.</p><p>      “Ivana, show our guests where the dishes are, and help clear up the herbs for later.”</p><p>       “Yes, Mama.” She can’t reach where things need to go, but she knows where they should be. Geralt hoists her onto his shoulders again, handing her bundles of herbs to hang on hooks so that the table is mostly cleared. Then, following her gestures and wiggles, he walks over to where the cups and plates are, taking them from her as she passes them to him one at a time. The forks and spoons are also easy to find, and he carefully sets the table. “You put the fork wrong,” she tells him indignantly.</p><p>      “No,” he argues before he can stop himself. Yennefer had shown him. She’d even shown him there were books for proper noble ladies to learn this sort of thing from. She’d told him while it was honestly all stupid drivel, at least no one would accuse him of not knowing his ass from his hand. He’d know which fork to use for what, even if he’d never have to set a table in his life.</p><p>       “Ivana,” Melina is exasperated. She looks over at how the witcher has set the table and can tell from how neatly he’s done it and how confused his eyes look that he’s probably learned somewhere far fancier than a farm.</p><p>        Jaskier is shaking with mirth as he watches Geralt attempt to remove the child from his shoulders. She squeaks and squeals which makes him freeze, and to her it’s a great game but the poor witcher has no idea what’s happening. Eventually Jaskier takes pity on him, scooping her off his shoulders in a swinging motion that prompts cries of ‘again, again’ as the back door bangs open and Geralt just about flies out of his skin. Jaskier sets Ivana down and she runs to greet her brothers and papa. He puts a hand on the small of Geralt’s back. Loud noises don’t always mean something bad is happening.</p><p>       Geralt seems to shrink down, becoming less. Jaskier hates when he does this, because he shouldn’t have to, but it does make him look less threatening.</p><p>       “Roddy,” Melina smiles, kissing her husband happily as he pulls her into a tight hug.</p><p>       “Mel, I tell you, Anders will be able to run the plow on his own, and then I’ll be able to take…” he trails off to see guests in their home. Geralt seems to shrink down further, and Jaskier gently propels him forward so that they can shake hands and be introduced properly. “I see you’ve got company.”</p><p>       “A bard, and a witcher,” she smiles. “This is Jaskier, and Geralt.” She waits as her husband shakes the bard’s hand and then takes his hand in her own before he can reach for Geralt’s. “I’ve told them you’d set them on the course of the wyvern first thing tomorrow. Ivana ran off this morning and they brought her home. Jaskier has helped me bundle the herbs for market at the end of the week, and Master Geralt has been Ivana’s minder for the past few hours.”</p><p>      Roderick relaxes and Geralt does, too. “I’ll be taking the boys. Anders, say hello, and then my younger son Petyr, Petyr say hello, then take your sister and go wash up.” The children go running off and Roderick grins a bit. “Ah youth.” He can’t be much past thirty, and Jaskier snorts at the joke. The man’s dark eyes and dark hair are reflected in his children, for all they got their mother’s olive skin. “I’ll be taking the boys up to one of the back fields. The wyvern was last seen around there, taking up some sheep, maybe a person or two. Hard to tell. Some people drink too much and drown in the river. Thought it was drowners some time back. Just stupidity.”</p><p>     Geralt tips his head a bit in agreement. Half the time there are no monsters, just stupid people. Roderick steps around the table and almost trips over the cat. Swearing, his arm flails and Geralt steps in before he can think to stop himself, catching the other man under the forearm and bracing him before quickly letting go and retreating. Jaskier again puts an arm out, stopping Geralt from going too far back. He’s done nothing wrong. A glance confirms that the cat didn’t move. Perhaps it <em> is </em> dead.</p><p>     No, it’s alive, he sees the small ribcage expand and deflate with air.</p><p>     “Damn you’re fast,” Roderick breathes. “Thank you. I’d have hated to make such an ass of myself, having just met you.”</p><p>      Jaskier glances at Geralt. “You’re welcome,” he translates.</p><p>      Roderick looks at them askance, but after sharing a glance with his wife decides it doesn’t matter. If the witcher doesn’t want to talk he doesn’t have to. Perhaps whatever mutations he’d gone through stopped him from being able to. “Here, sit down with me, I’ll get us some water, unless you’d prefer something stronger? I think we have plenty of beer.”</p><p>     The witcher allows Jaskier to press him in closer to the table until he’s forced to sit. “Geralt?” Jaskier presses. “I wouldn’t mind just water,” he says, glancing at Geralt again. He lightly rests his hand on the other man’s thigh. Too many people, too much stimulus, he can’t cope with a question about preference right now. The bard decides for him. “I think water will be fine for us both.” He hates having to do that, but he knows Geralt won’t answer. Can’t answer. He squeezes his leg gently.</p><p>      Geralt carefully rests his clasped hands on the table, showing he is unarmed. He doesn’t move them and keeps his hands as loose as he can. He wants to squeeze them together and his knee bobs up and down frantically until Jaskier gently squeezes his leg again, patting it. The touch is so soothing that Geralt calms again. He should be outside, perhaps. Maybe it would be better if he waited in the barn with Roach. He can’t ask to leave, though, it would be rude and no one has asked him anything about where he would like to go.</p><p>     Melina sets a trivet down on the center of the table before lifting the pot from the fire and setting it onto the trivet. She leans over to gently set a hand over Geralt’s on the table. Jaskier digs his fingertips into Geralt’s leg, willing him not to pull away. <em> Don’t react badly </em>, he prays.</p><p>     Quite the accomplished mimic, Geralt simply turns his hand palm up, allowing her to squeeze his hand and squeezing back before she pulls away. The bard breathes a sigh of relief. He knows how much the witcher fears being touched.</p><p><em> Geralt had learned as a child not to touch others for comfort, or to allow touching in turn. Holding hands meant a beating. He’d forgotten what a hug was within days of beginning his training. No instructors picked them up to comfort them if they fell. They were told from the start, again, and again, witchers don’t feel. Witchers are not weak. Witchers hunt monsters or they die. You had to be strong to survive the training, and then you would go out and take contracts. You were there because no one wanted you. Geralt had protested, his mama had just lost him, she would find him. She’d told him she would find him, </em> people bound by destiny would always find each other <em> . He had bolted after that, knowing he would not like what happened to him for speaking up. </em></p><p>
  <em> And he had not. His mother had not used a belt on him, for all he had received the occasion swat for misbehaving. This was nothing like that. The witcher had yanked his belt free of his trousers and folded Geralt over his knee within seconds. The boy hadn’t even had a chance to get ten paces before he was howling and squirming. ‘This doesn’t stop until you’re quiet,’ the voice had told him, and he had screamed himself hoarse because he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t master himself. Once his voice had given out, it had stopped. He had snuffled and sobbed and laid there in the dirt after when he’d been pushed away. ‘Get up or we start again.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He had gotten up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Another boy had risked everything that night to comfort him. He could not sleep on his back or side he hurt so bad. He couldn’t sleep at all. He wanted to leave so badly, and the pain did not help. Eskel had become his best and dearest friend. As much as they were able to be friends. Fortunately, the boys were so miserable as a whole they never took it out on each other. No groups formed; the bigger boys didn’t torment the smaller. They were all in the same miserable castle together, and the least they could do was not add to each other’s suffering. </em>
</p><p>       Geralt flinches when the boys come back in, loud and bright and laughing. Jaskier again squeezes his leg and starts up the gentle stroking. The bard could have shifted the touch to the inside of his thigh and it wouldn’t have aroused him, it was unmistakably meant to be kind and nothing more.</p><p>       “Manners,” Roderick protests, coming back with two pitchers of water in his hands, having just pumped it from the well. It’s safe to drink and sweet. He sets them on the table on either side of the food. “Boys, be quiet... or at least try,” he says in exasperation. “I promise, we didn’t raise them like this.”</p><p>       “They’re young,” Jaskier smiles. “I was far worse at their age.” He snorts when Ivana crawls up next to Geralt on the bench and drags herself into his lap so she can peer over the table. He pulls his hand away in time to avoid startling her. Or her noticing and wanting to know why he was touching the witcher’s thigh. “Oh, let him eat by himself,” he scolds gently, hoping that one of her parents will take it as a cue to remove her. Geralt won’t be able to relax to eat until she’s out of his lap.</p><p>        Melina scoops her up and deposits her in her father’s lap. They settle together and say a short prayer to Melitele before Roderick dishes out food to his children and himself. Melina offers their guests the ladle and Jaskier serves himself and glances at Geralt. He’d given himself about as much as Roderick had, not wanting to take too much, but also being hungry. The apples had slowed down his hunger pains but hadn’t quelled the ache entirely. He has a feeling Geralt feels the same. There’s plenty in the pot for seconds, if he’s wrong, and he serves Geralt without asking. It’ll save the witcher some kind of internal debate.</p><p>     He’d seen Geralt drift off at the table moments before, his jaw clenching, and knows the stress of being around so many people for so long is getting to him.</p><p>     “After lunch, do you mind if we find a place to sleep? Is there room in the barn?” he asks.</p><p>     “The barn?” Melina asks. “Oh, no, we have an attic room. My mother used to sleep up there. She passed a year ago- not in the room. She was out in the fields when it happened. We keep the room clear of dust, and use it mostly for storage, but the bed is sound.”</p><p>      “Well, how about that, Geralt?” Jaskier smiles brightly. “A nice meal, good company, and a bed. We’ve found the nicest family on the continent. And all you have to do is kill a measly wyvern.”</p><p>      Geralt grunts in agreement, and leaves one hand on the table in view, and uses the other to scoop up his food with the fork. He’d waited to eat until he saw the others start. Yennefer had warned him about this, too.</p><p>
  <em> Some places might wait for their guest to eat first, but usually you wait for the host. If they don’t start to eat, pick up your utensil and see if they do. If they copy you, you have to eat first. Don’t take extras unless they’re offered. I’ve yet to find a place where it isn’t rude to take more than you’ve been given. Wrong fork, this is seafood. Yennefer had actually sort of loved teaching Geralt some of the intricacies of table manners. Mostly because it gave her an excuse to eat all sorts of things just so she could show him how it was done. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His delight in trying new foods and experiencing things with her had made it fun. She’d also liked watching him fill out some, bones not standing out like his skin had been stretched too tight across them. Shellfish had been perhaps the most fun, watching him attempt not to break the little fork used to pry the meat from the shell. He’d been disgusted with how much effort it took for such little food. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘You’re joking,’ he’d told her when she’d shown him crab. ‘That’s a bug.’ When she’d eaten it, cracking the shell with her hands, as was acceptable in coastal regions, he’d decided to try it. Lobster hadn’t made him pause at all, after the crab. Snails, he’d told her, were much better cooked than raw. That had made her shudder a bit, but she couldn’t argue with him. She’d never had them raw. He did not care for anything with tentacles, and she didn’t either, but it had been worth it to see him make a face. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In some ways, sharing those meals had reminded her that all the money and power she was amassing was actually worth something. It wasn’t just to have it. She’d wanted to live the life she’d deserved, and she’d gotten it and then had quite forgotten to enjoy any of it. She’d never forget his reaction to trying various desserts, and loved that he’d developed a fondness for rhubarb. </em>
</p><p>        “Thank you,” he manages, forcing his frozen tongue to move in his mouth. Melina leans forward again, squeezing his hand on the table just like she had before. He turns his palm up again and squeezes back. That seems to be the appropriate response or she wouldn’t have done it again. Jaskier pours them both some water, and he drinks it, hand still under Melina’s on the table. Should he pull away? But she squeezes his fingers gently again. Some part of his brain registers she’s comforting him, she can sense his distress. The rest of him dismisses that, because he can’t feel, and therefore doesn’t feel distress. He decides that she is playing some kind of game that peasants of the region play, and since her husband is utterly unconcerned it must be nothing sexual or flirtatious.</p><p>       Jaskier finishes eating, surprised that the children are relatively quiet. He watches as Roderick supervises Ivana eating from his plate, helping her use her spoon. The little family eats, chatters, and Jaskier answers their questions about gossip from the road. This king is doing this, trying to make an alliance here, all things Geralt couldn’t care less about. He’s more interested in the wyvern. He glances a few times at the pot of food still on the table and wonders if he’s allowed to have more.</p><p>      The boys ask for seconds and their father helps them with it. They’ve been nonstop pushing and chatting and teasing each other and talking to Jaskier all while shooting curious glances at the witcher. They’re too well behaved to pester him, able to see that since the man isn’t talking they shouldn’t try and force him to.</p><p>      “If you’re still hungry,” Roderick notices the witcher’s focus, “you’re welcome to more. We’ve had a good few years, and there’s plenty of food here to go ‘round. We take the cart weekly to sell the extra and what we can’t sell we give to the temple.”</p><p>      Geralt tenses, but Melina squeezes his hand again and he gives into the urge to take seconds. “Thank you,” he says again, because it’s polite. He has no idea if there’s something else he should say, and he feels the bard pat his leg again. He’s fine.</p><p>      “Fill your plate,” Jaskier urges him softly when he only takes a small scoop. “If you’re that hungry, take what you need,” the bard encourages him.</p><p>      “Eat as much as you’d like, it’s no trouble.”</p><p>      Geralt chews the inside of his cheek but does add more food. He’s not sure how much is enough, and he’s leery of taking more than he can eat.</p><p>
  <em> Greed was not becoming of a witcher. Taking too much and not being able to finish meant food wasted. It could have been saved for later or fed to someone else. Waste not want not. You cleared your plate or you went hungry the next day. He had learned that his eyes were often bigger than his stomach and it was better to be vaguely hungry all the time than outright nauseous. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> After clearing his plate, he’d felt horribly ill. He had learned he had overdone it when, after slipping off the comb, he’d puked. He’d also broken his arm. It had been set and splinted, and oddly enough he hadn’t been punished. He’d been allowed to spend two days in the infirmary where he’d mostly been left to his own devices. Able to read, and work on his studies without interference. He had missed his friends but had been grateful to avoid punishment of any kind for two days provided he did whatever the healer asked. If he didn’t finish all his food, nothing came of it. </em>
</p><p>      Jaskier watches as Geralt eats carefully and has a feeling the witcher didn’t give himself enough. He winks lightly at his hosts and serves himself a little extra. He picks at it mostly, waiting until Geralt is done. “Here, I can’t finish,” he slides his plate over. “I wasn’t as hungry as I thought. It just smells so good, thank you both so much for your kindness.”</p><p>     Geralt looks around and looks at Jaskier. He’s not so socially inept he doesn’t know what the bard is up to. But Jaskier wasn’t wrong, and he is still hungry. </p><p>     When everyone is done, the children are set to work clearing the table. “I’ll show you to the room upstairs,” Melina offers. Jaskier nods.</p><p>     “C’mon Geralt, you’ll need some extra sleep anyway, the gods know you’ll be up all night hunting, tomorrow.”</p><p>     “Roach,” he protests hesitantly.</p><p>     “Here, I’ll go check on her, you go get settled. Anything you need out of the saddlebags?”</p><p>     “No,” Geralt tells him.</p><p>     “After dinner, we’ll go out together and you can look her over, but you’re dead on your feet,” Jaskier tells him softly. “It’ll be alright if you sleep a little. She’s fine. You saw her in the barn safely, I’ll make sure she’s still there and has food and water.”</p><p>      Geralt nods, able to accept the compromise. He offers Melina his arm and she smiles and gives him a little curtsy. He realizes it was a stupid thing to do when she leads him around a wall and up a small staircase to the attic room. She isn’t some fine noble lady, he had no reason to do that. At least she didn’t laugh at him or pull away.</p><p>      The door shuts and he feels grateful. He'd rather have the ability to put up a barrier. He can hear the boys in the background, begging their father to have permission to go talk to the witcher. They’re firmly denied and told since they were quiet at lunch, they can talk to him after supper if he chooses to stay. If he wants to go back up and sleep however, they’ll let him be.</p><p>      They reach the top and he looks around the cluttered room. She hadn’t lied, they have been using it for storage. It was relatively dust free, and the bed looked comfortable enough. He vaguely wonders if any of the things have been left here because they’re broken and no one has time to fix them, or if it’s just junk. Either way, it’s fitting he would be sleeping here.</p><p>     “Did Jaskier tell you my pa was saved by a witcher? He never did get his name, though,” she smiles. “But he did tell us to be good to witchers we saw. You’d never know when you needed help and it would be better not to have them refuse it because of past sins.”</p><p>     Geralt swallows and wants to ask her what the witcher looked like. He looks at her when she pats his arm before pulling hers free of his. It’s not to be unkind. She isn’t trying to get away from him, she just needs her arm back.</p><p>     “There’s extra blankets here, if you need them. It’s been nice out, but cool at night.”</p><p>      He nods to show he’s heard. He wets his lips to try and ask her but he can’t do it. Jaskier isn’t there to give him courage or smooth it over if he messes it up.</p><p>      “Maybe you know him? The witcher? Maybe you’d met. I know it’s possible you haven’t. But the monster scarred his face,” she drags her fingertips across her own cheek.</p><p>      “Brown hair?” he asks. “Red, he wore red,” Geralt offers her.</p><p>      “I don’t know about his clothes, Papa never described that. He had a medallion like yours, with a wolf’s head. And brown hair cut shorter than yours.”</p><p>      “Eskel,” Geralt tells her. He tries to do something with his face that will make it look like he’s smiling but all he manages to do is twitch the corners of his lips. He wants to offer her something back. “We grew up together,” he manages. He breathes in deeply, nostrils flaring as he looks at her. His eyes travel down to the hand she has resting on her belly, and he stares.</p><p>     She smiles and presses a finger to her lips. “You can smell it?” she asks him quietly.</p><p>    “Baby?” he asks her, fairly sure that’s what she smells like. There’s less human smell in the attic, he hadn’t been sure before. While he can still smell the family, and the farm, the flowers, and the food, it’s more removed. Less powerful. He lifts a hand and then drops it.</p><p>     “Yes, a baby,” she smiles and holds out her hands for his. “If it’s a boy, my father had always wanted to name a son after the witcher who saved him, but he had only daughters. Now I know his name.” When Geralt gives her his hand, she lightly presses it to her stomach. “Nothing to feel yet. No one else knows. Sometimes, sometimes you lose them, I’m not sure it’s taken root properly yet.” She lets him pull away.</p><p>     Geralt worries being around her, something horrible like him might make her lose the baby. Although if a wyvern disrupts their lives enough the stress might do that, too. “Girl?” he knows Jaskier would tell him to speak in full sentences.</p><p>     “Then we’ll name her after Roddy’s mother. Eilidh. As much as I’d like to honor your friend, I would love another daughter,” she confides in him.</p><p>     “I won’t tell,” he promises, his thoughts spiraling out of control. What if someone finds out he knew about the baby and didn’t tell? Of course, why would they? How could they?</p><p>      Jaskier waits at the bottom of the steps blinking away tears. He hadn’t meant to listen in. He’d been worried about Geralt, but he hadn’t wanted to intrude. He hadn’t meant to hear about the babe, but his heart pounds and his eyes continue to water. He can almost imagine the scene above him. Finally, he knows he’s waited too long and scuffs his boots on the steps on purpose and heads up them, humming.</p><p>     “Get some rest,” Melina admonishes them, and heads back down the stairs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For the record, yes there are real people like this little family, and yes they can even exist in older generations. Sometimes You might have to travel 2000 miles or more to find people who will be kind to you, but they are real. I struggle with trying to balance enough of Sapkowski's kind of bleak world building with a little reality and so while this family isn't based on anyone, it's also based on dozens of people I've run across while I've been in bad situations.<br/>I had no intention for the little family to feature as much as they did, but I'm kind of enjoying the dynamic Geralt has with them, and how he's wanting to integrate but afraid to. </p><p>As always I love hearing from you guys about what you think of the fic, and it's always super exciting when I see that email go off saying I got a comment. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW: aftermath of assault. You can avoid the italics if you'd like to still read the chapter, Jaskier and Geralt do not directly discuss any of it. <br/>Also I guess CW for prostitution?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to ahh-fuck for beta'ing. As usual. </p><p>Please see chapter summary for TW's. </p><p>And thanks to the lovely people commenting. I hope everyone enjoys an early update.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Geralt clenches and unclenches his hand, and Jaskier imagines she had let him touch her stomach. She isn’t showing yet, there’d been nothing to feel. It had been a moment of trust between them, and he knows Geralt doesn’t understand it. He takes Geralt’s hand in his for a moment. “I heard, downstairs. I won’t tell either,” he promises softly. “It’s good we came then. Helping her some, watching the other child, it’ll take some of her burden away so she’s more likely to keep the babe,” he reassures Geralt. “And we’ll take away the stress of some scaly pest ruining her idyllic farm life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Smaller than Ivanna,” Geralt tells him, and Jaskier knows the witcher understands far more than he’s saying. Geralt is anything but simple. But yes, the baby will be much smaller when it’s born. He cups his hands to show Jaskier about how small he thinks the baby would be, leaving his palms a few inches apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d say that’s about right. Have you ever held a baby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt shakes his head. “Mutants aren’t allowed around babies. They could kill them. They’re dirty,” he explains, knowing the question requires an explanation. He can hear the difference when Jaskier asks him. “Just like the children in the villages. No one wants witchers around them.” His eyebrows pull together in concern and Jaskier forgets to breathe. When did he start making facial expressions? “Will my being here risk the baby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, oh, Geralt no,” Jaskier hugs him tightly. “Oh, of course not. Never, Geralt. That’s not how any of it works. The wyvern won’t even hurt the baby unless the stress upsets her or it attacks her. You aren’t adding burdens to her life, you’re taking them away. The baby has a better chance because of you,” the bard reassures him in a soft voice. He knows Geralt can hear just fine, no need to be loud. Plus, they don’t want to risk anyone overhearing them. He shuts the door after checking no children are listening in on them from the stairway. “Never, Geralt, you existing hurts no one,” he says, scrubbing tears from his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt touches his damp cheek gently, clearly mystified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just tired, love, I’m just tired.” Jaskier explains wearily, his heart sore. “I’m going to take my boots off and go to sleep. Will you join me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another nod. He’s not entirely convinced Jaskier is right, but he can’t think of a single book he’d read about mutations saying that they made people around them sick. He doesn’t carry disease, in fact he’s immune to most of them. His body doesn’t harbor pests, he keeps himself clean and knows not to foul the water supply. Jaskier is right, he can’t harm the babe just by being in the same house. He’s passed through several towns and no one just happened to miscarry because he had been within a few miles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits on the bed and is relieved it’s in good condition. After unbuckling his boots, he glances at his feet. He needs to darn his socks again, but there’s not much left to work with. He needs that contract because he desperately needs new clothes. His spare shirt is torn so badly there’s really no hope of mending it. Jaskier had to cut his spare pants off of him when a monster had gored his leg so badly there was no other way to get to the wound without making things worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dirty,” he complains, meaning himself, and his clothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After a nap, we will shake out the bedding and see if we can borrow a bit of soap and we’ll rinse our things. And you,” Jaskier teases him. “You’re just dusty from the road, it’ll be fine,” he sighs. “What’s really wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Geralt tells him. He feels upset, but he doesn’t know that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt,” Jaskier pushes, and Geralt sighs. He knows he can describe it and Jaskier will help him, but he doesn’t want to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m tired,” he avoids the issue entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We both are,” Jaskier concedes, eyeing him with careful concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what made you cry?” Geralt presses back, needing to know. “Being tired?” None of it makes sense, you can’t cry from being tired, can you? Jaskier had told him crying came from happiness and sadness, usually. There’s tired crying now, too?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” the bard sighs. It wouldn’t be fair to lie. He knows that the witcher is thinking, processing everything that had happened all day, trying to put the dots together for himself. It’s not fair to confuse him worse when he’s just trying to learn. Geralt had promised him, on the mountain, to try and be more aware of feelings and reactions, and he can’t do that if he doesn’t know how, or if people lie to him and make it harder. He pats the bed and Geralt slides in, automatically curling up against his chest. “Great big baby of a witcher,” Jaskier says fondly, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt has heard Jaskier say this often enough it no longer bothers him. He’s learned it’s not an insult, not from the bard. It is a bit of a teasing comment, but it’s affectionate, too. Like when the water’s too cold in the stream to relax while bathing and he complains, that kind of thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses his face into the vee of Jaskier’s shirt, inhaling deeply. Jaskier has gotten used to this and knows that it doesn’t mean much of anything. He’d asked once if Geralt had also stuck his face down Yennefer’s cleavage and sniffed her, and the witcher had been so taken aback his jaw had dropped. He had haltingly tried to explain that it was just where his face was and he was breathing deeply. Geralt had obviously been mortified he’d done something wrong and it had taken quite a bit of reassurance on Jaskier’s part to reassure him that it was fine. And he had tried again to explain.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Scents make it more real. I can’t smell in dreams. I know you’re here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He had also pointed out he did not sleep half on top of Yennefer because he was far too big to do that, and she was very small. She also did not tramp about in the rough like they did, and as such he could smell all the things she used on her hair and skin, and she slept with her head tucked under his chin. The smell never went away, not until she was long gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face had relaxed when he talked about it, and Jaskier had felt a bit jealous. He had tried to explain that any time he woke up he could smell her, so he knew she was there, and they were together and it was good. Finding out he was jealous of the sorceress had been the start of a short journey to realizing he was most definitely in love with the emotionally stunted witcher and had faced quite a bit of panic over it. It couldn’t be helped, though. He knew the man locked inside from decades of abuse, and he loved that man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Geralt pushes again quietly, fussing with the collar of Jaskier’s shirt under his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was sad, Geralt. I was sad someone told you that you being around a baby or a pregnant mother would kill the babe. That wasn’t right. You seem happy enough here, for you, and the idea that someone from the past could ruin that made me sad.” He strokes Geralt’s hair back from his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I fix it?” he asks quietly, his voice a low rumble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you don’t even need to try. Just don’t be anxious that being around Melina is going to hurt her. That’s all. You won’t. If witchers made people sick, I’d be dead by now don’t you think? Or Yennefer, you’ve had sex with her several times and have yet to poison her. Unfortunately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt grunts in displeasure. He doesn’t like when anyone talks badly about her. She had saved him when she hadn’t had to. When she’d told him to get out, and to never darken her doorstep again, he had come to her later anyway, and she had saved him. Put aside her infamous temper and put him back together and let him stay with her, and without that he would have died.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d woken up in the gutter, confused and in pain. Gutters in cities were always disgusting, filled with refuse and anything else people wanted to wash away. Geralt much preferred simpler living, where people had the decency to bury their shit; not send it around town via tunnels underground and all over their streets. At least on a farm when it rained the walkways didn’t flood with feces and dead rats.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d pushed himself up, head aching, and looked around in confusion. He couldn’t see out of one eye at all, there was a lump on his jaw so bad it made even him whimper, and he could barely get himself up off the ground. His clothes were torn and he was forced to hold his trousers up because they wouldn’t stay on their own. All he could remember was that he’d been drinking before, and he could smell the sickly-sweet smell of vomit on his clothes. Cheap beer, he’d noticed. He couldn’t believe he’d thrown up on himself. Not to mention he had no idea what happened to him. He hurt in a place he’d never really hurt that badly before and wondered what on earth he’d sold himself into. There was no coin added to his pockets.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The decision to stumble ‘home,’ where he’d been living for the past two years between contracts, was made before he even consciously knew it. His feet started him shuffling and staggering back to Yennefer. His skin felt oddly tight in places, like something sticky had dried on him, and he hoped it was beer. Pain wracked his body and by the time he made it to the door he was so dizzy he knew he wouldn't be able to stand much longer. It also occurred to him as he lifted his hand to knock, the reason he had no keys was because she had told him to go.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She was angry at him. He couldn’t stand any longer without help and collapsed against the door. The sky was still mostly dark and he had no idea what time it was, or what she would do to him, but he had nowhere else to go. His head spinning, he fell when the door opened and hands tried to catch him. They slowed his fall, at the very least.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Aiella, I told you he wasn’t to be allowed back in!” Yennefer was wrapping a robe about her shoulders and her eyes crackled with blue fire, magic dancing over her fingers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“He’s hurt badly,” her servant said. “We didn’t know it was him anyway,” she’s utterly unphased by her mistress. Yennefer had found her in a ditch, tossed aside and dying after bandits burned her home and killed her husband. She had healed her, given her purpose, and trained her enough to help other women, and the occasional man, and put her in the position of running her household. She had prestige, comfort, and safety. And permission to treat whoever she pleased whenever. “Ma’am, if you don’t want him here, I’ll still take him to my rooms and clean him up. You said I had a right.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt tried to get his legs under himself, but they didn't respond. Yennefer went swiftly to his side, and all of her anger bled out of her in an instant. “Get him upstairs, send someone to a rag picker or tailor, he’ll need clothes. He can’t wear those again. Aiella-” she didn’t bother to waste words. The woman knew what was needed. He reeked of the gutters and blood, and she headed up the stairs as her servants gathered, preparing her chambers so she would have what she needed to heal him. “On the bed,” she directed them as they carefully lowered him down. He was conscious, she could hear his thoughts, but mostly all he was concerned about was how much pain he was in, and that he couldn’t remember what happened.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Shouldn’t have gone and gotten yourself so shitfaced you blacked out,” she snapped as she cut away his clothes. Fear made her angry. “I’m still mad at you,” she informed him, and he did his best to nod. Pain made his eyes roll up in his head and he almost blacked out. “I take it this isn’t from you?” she asked, holding up his stained shirt, and he looked at it. He’s fairly sure it does not feel like he had a good night, so probably not.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Servants hauled water up to the tub she kept in her room, working swiftly and quietly. Aiella informed her that there were plenty of fresh rags and towels. They’d got clean sheets waiting, and one of the footmen had gone to the tailor already. She’d already prepared herbs for the bath that would help with the healing process and Yennefer nodded in approval. Her fingertips pressed over the lump disfiguring the left side of Geralt’s face and winced when she realized his jaw was broken.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why break his jaw?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Probably meant to kick his teeth in, or they just got too rough trying to force his mouth open,” the woman pointed out dispassionately. “His mouth’s all bruised up.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I thought that would be from hitting him,” Yennefer admitted, realizing abruptly that this was not some kind of mugging he’d been too drunk to protect himself from. Blood, saliva, and ejaculate were smeared all over his face and he’d been dribbling it down over his chin and neck. “Get me ice, too,” she said. “I’d conjure it myself, but by the time I fix the bone I won’t have as much power left to waste on that.” It was far easier for her to use her abilities to do other things. Bring down an entire castle? Easy enough. Capture and direct lightning? Simple. Healing? Horrible. Time consuming, and it felt like it was sucking the life out of her half the time. Gathering her power, she flooded it into the fractures in the bone, re-securing loose molars into his gums and knitting the cracks in his teeth. “You are so lucky,” she grunted with the effort of trying to talk while healing. “That you aren’t missing any pieces of the teeth you broke, because I cannot regenerate them.” Sweat beaded her forehead and caused her hair to stick to her neck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You are also lucky I am very fond of you, because I very much hate healing. A flick of my fingers and I could turn this city to ashes, but this… oh, I am going to have a headache for days from a simple jawbone and some teeth.” She didn’t know what else to tell him. He couldn’t talk to her and he was desperately trying to slip out of consciousness on her and she needed him to stay awake. She finished before the tub was full, and when she felt the dull panic in his chest she investigated. Passing a hand over his eyes, only one of them reacted to the light and shadow. “Dammit Geralt,” she hissed at him. As if it’s somehow his fault this happened. Cool fingertips pressed lightly around his eye, and he </span>
  </em>
  <span>whimpered</span>
  <em>
    <span>. The witcher who was silent through having his cock sucked, didn’t make a sound when he set his own bones after breaking them on a hunt, who had put his own insides back where they belonged after his stomach was torn open, and had stitched himself shut -all without a single grunt of pain… whimpered when she touched his cheek.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s broken,” she informed him. She rested her fingertips over the ridge of bone and sank her power into it, forcing it through torn blood vessels and bruised skin, demanding the break underneath ruptured flesh become whole. She got up after, shakily, and vomited into the chamber pot after smearing blood from her nose across her sleeve. “Can you stand?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes,” his mouth hurt so badly. The insides of his cheeks and lips were lacerated and blood coated his teeth. “I think so.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Madam Yennefer,” Aiella interrupted.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes?” she turned away to look. Another servant dumped a final bucket of water into the bath and went over to help Geralt as he shakily stood and almost fell.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I had the cook woken, told her to make broth. And some soup, but to overcook the vegetables to mush. It’ll be ready in a few hours.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thank you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I also had his bags brought up from the stables and his horse unsaddled. Her water and grain are filled and her stable mucked. Witcher or not he won’t be able to sit a horse for a few days,” Aiella said tightly. Yennefer looked over and saw blood smeared across his backside and between his thighs, then looked carefully at her nails. If she lost her temper right now it would not be the best time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t throw away or burn his clothes. They left something of themselves on his shirt and pants, and I will find them,” she said calmly, her eyes flashing in rage.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes’m. I’ll see what else can be done. I take it you don’t want him in the spare room?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, he’ll stay with me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“When we have clothes for him, I’ll leave them at the door. In case he’s resting.” Aiella also knew there were some blankets that had been washed and put away that the witcher was fond of because of the texture. She would have those brought up, as well. He tended to use them in the library, where he’d curl up for hours with the mistress’s books. He’d lived there two years; the servants were well aware of his habits. If he heard of a monster, he left. He came back, sometimes dirty, sometimes clean, sometimes within a few days, sometimes within the month. He fussed over his horse himself, preferred to see to her needs without help, and when Yennefer was busy, kept himself occupied by reading. He rarely went out around the town and detested the other sorcerers who came around. If he knew one was coming, he took his horse for a ride to ‘stretch her legs’.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yennefer watched as a servant helped Geralt step into the tub, gently sliding a hand under his knee and helping him lift his leg. She was trying to assess the damage she saw and took a minute to get herself under control. Some of his memories were trickling in, and she knew he had intended to die, not intended to get beaten and assaulted. This also isn’t the first time he’s tried to end his life this way, even if he didn’t understand that’s really what he was doing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It took two of them to get him in, one to hold under his arms and keep him upright and the other to maneuver his legs. Once he was in, and somewhat comfortable, she rolled up her sleeves and picked up a rag. She worked soap and water into it before starting with his face. “Close your eyes unless you want soap in them.” Then to the servants, “Get a towel for under his head, so he can rest more comfortably.” She helped him rearrange his limbs per his thoughts, knowing where the most discomfort was.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She bit her lip when she reached his neck and forced herself to keep wiping him down. No wonder he had been even quieter than usual; she could see black and purple handprints decorating the column of his throat. She memorized how the hands were held so that when she killed the people who did this, she could put her hands on them the same way as she choked the life out of them slowly. His scalp was sore and she winced sympathetically as she washed the filth from his hair. If she was behind him, one hand yanking his hair and the other throttling him, she could recreate the bruise pattern. Good to know. The people who did this would know every pain Geralt felt. She would have plenty of magic with which to make sure their nerves burned with the agony they had caused. And she wouldn’t have to do much of anything to them. The pain would kill them all on its own without leaving a single mark, because they didn’t have a witcher’s constitution or a powerful mage to save them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It felt like ages before she'd gotten him clean. Some rags had been so filthy she’d given up and discarded them rather than try and rinse them out. He was still trickling blood from the corner of his mouth and since she’d brought the swelling down, she wasn’t sure why. She gently gripped his chin and turned his head. He looked at her blankly, and she very gently pressed down on his chin. Wincing, he opened his mouth for her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Water and baking soda mixed,” she said. She couldn't tell what was going on because there was so much blood. Within minutes someone handed her a cup and she told Geralt “Spit it back out,” after holding it up to his lips. He drank enough to fill his mouth and swished it slowly around. That’s when she realized the blood was coming from the corner of his lip, where the skin had torn. Broken jaw to open his mouth, torn up mouth, choking would have also stopped him from biting down if he was trying to gasp for air. He spit into the bath water and she held the cup to him again. It took a few sips but eventually the water he spit out was no longer indistinguishable from blood.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The cup was empty, but she could tell that he was relieved that his mouth felt so much cleaner. His thoughts have not been on what’s happened and it makes it hard for him to help her. He’d been trying very hard to go somewhere else and be as absent as possible from his body. She didn’t blame him and never tried to call him back. When she got him to open his mouth again, she saw the split was deeper than she’d realized, and the insides of his cheeks were raw. There was an ointment she had that she usually sold for cold sores and the like, but it should work for this. She got up and opened a drawer, digging around for a bit before finding it. It’s not as if she needed it for herself, or anyone she was willing to bed, but she tended to keep some of everything nearby. It almost always came in handy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Open again,” she told him. Gently, she coated the inside of his mouth with the ointment. He swallowed convulsively. Having anything inside his mouth right now stirred up fear low in his stomach. “It’s me, dear heart, it’s me,” she reminded him. Kissed his forehead as she pulled away, satisfied as she watched him tongue his cheek and then breathe in through his mouth. “I forgot you hate anise, I’m sorry,” she told him, watching his nose wrinkle and trying not to laugh when he scraped his tongue over his teeth and smacked his lips a little. There’s really nothing funny about it, but watching him do something so innocuous in spite of all the misery made her want to smile. “I’ll find you something else to clear the taste out in a bit. I promise.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Heat more water,” she told one of the servants who was bringing her more rags and taking the old to be washed. “When it’s done start bringing it up, and make sure no one’s by the window.” There was a spell she had used many times that would dump all of the bathwater out. It gave her a bit of a headache, but she already had one from the healing she’d done, so what’s a little more discomfort? Exhausted, she leaned in to kiss him without thinking about it and he flinched away. “I’m sorry,” she told him. Instead, she settled against the side of the tub, letting her arms rest on the edge and pillowing her head on them. He reached out and touched her hair, stroking it. She resisted the urge to shiver when water droplets dripped over her neck and a few traveled down her back. It would make him stop, and she knew the repetitive motion was bringing him comfort.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Why are you so defensive about her anyway?” Jaskier asks, stroking his hair. He mostly talks badly about the witch to irk the witcher and get him to emote more. It’s fairly shitty and he knows it, but sometimes it’s the longest conversation he and Geralt have in weeks. But he’s never gotten Geralt to tell him why he’s so protective of her. Perhaps, since he seems more at ease here, and perhaps since they’ve made some progress in other arenas, now Geralt could tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She saved me,” Geralt grunts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not what the bard expected at all. He carefully keeps stroking Geralt’s hair, feeling like perhaps he shouldn’t push. “Lots of people have saved you from something or other, I’m sure. What makes her special? Because she takes you to bed, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t,” Geralt points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see this is a conversation we’ll have to have again, after,” Jaskier sighs. “What do you mean she saved you? From a monster? An angry bar patron?” He can’t imagine sleeping with Geralt casually. He wants so much more. To the witcher, sex is usually something done to ‘relieve an itch’. Or the means to an end in regard to completing a transaction. The bard would always feel sick thinking about the first time he’d been forced to confront that facet of Geralt’s life.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When they’re low on grain for the horses, he went to busk and see if he could drum up coin. He had never expected Geralt to do what he had. They shouldn’t have separated, because then he could have stopped the conversation from ever happening and stopped…he would never be able to go back to that town, not after that.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When he came back to pay the stablemaster, the last thing he expected was for Geralt to be paying with his body, a blank expression on his face as he braced himself against the door of an empty stall. If Jaskier hadn’t known better, he would have almost believed he was bored, and well able to ignore the rhythmic grunting of the man behind him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He had looked at Jaskier without any kind of shame, any understanding of what was happening to him. He needed feed for Roach, and she needed a warm place to sleep out of the muck during the rainy seasons. Her hooves needed to be dried out, he needed to borrow tools to clean the frogs and check her shoes. He might need the services of a ferrier. He would get a bit of coin for this and then some extra. If it isn’t sex with a lover, it’s just a transaction, what should he care? The bard escaped when he realized only Geralt saw him there and puked his guts up into the gutters. He’d have tried to stop it, but the stablemaster was bigger than he was and he couldn’t take the risk the man would hurt Geralt. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The horses taken care of, Jaskier used the coin he’d earned to have a bath drawn up and helped Geralt bathe until all trace of the stablemaster was washed away. He tried to ask, and when Geralt openly informed him ‘it’s just better that way’, he bit his tongue so hard it bled rather than reply or push the issue. He had coin, they were fine, Geralt wouldn't need to do that again while they were together. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He noticed how the witcher got thinner after, stress and shame eating his insides even if he wouldn’t admit it. He’d been the heaviest Jaskier had ever seen him after living with Yennefer for a few years. Healthy. Shiny hair, bright eyes, enough meat over his bones to hide them. Slowly his spine crept through his skin and the bard could count the vertebrae. He realized he’d seen this pattern before. This had happened before. Hadn’t understood what it meant at the time. Now he would know. Now he would know to look out for it, stop it before it happened.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eventually, the night terrors had passed, lucrative contracts had followed, and Geralt had filled back out.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Myself,” he mutters, rubbing his face against Jaskier’s chest, needing the feeling of hair and skin across his cheek to ground him. Most of his experiences growing up, while not pleasant, were physical. And reminding himself he’s in the physical world helps ground him. He cannot pinch at himself or bite into his cheek with Jaskier around, the bard always stops him. Not to mention that Jaskier will not intentionally hurt him, either, so it’s hard to sometimes find a way to ground himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not very specific, Geralt,” the bard pushes again. He needs more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She didn’t have to help me, and she did,” he shrugs one shoulder, feeling his skin prickle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Jaskier gives one last push.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We fought. I got drunk, so drunk I hardly remember what happened. I woke up and went back to her. She helped me even though she was angry with me,” his voice is low and shame floods him as he recounts the most barebones version of the story he can imagine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Helped you remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put me back together,” Geralt says, not sure how else to explain it. “Fixed my jaw, my teeth, my skull, bandaged my ribs…put salve over the bruises, sheltered me while I healed. Didn’t,” he heaves a shuddering little sigh. “Didn’t get mad when I bled on the sheets. Didn’t hurt me when she found where I was bleeding and made it stop. She could have, she could have made it hurt when she did it,” his voice goes up slightly in pitch. “She didn’t mock me for what they did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We’ll let you soak a bit, in clean water. I know you like to bathe,” she’d told him gently. “Then I’ll have to look you over, see what else needs doing. Then I’m going to sleep,” she informed him. She wasn’t angry with him anymore. Couldn’t have told anyone what they’d been fighting about. He turned his face away when she leaned in to kiss him and she pulled back. It would have upset her on a personal level had she not gotten a flash of why. It would probably take him weeks to stop flinching.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His head pulsed and he ached too much to use igni to heat the water hotter, but at least it was fresh. At least he no longer stunk like the gutter, no longer reeked of another man’s… he smelled more like himself, and a bit like Yennefer. All in all, not a bad way to be. Not like before. He’d been fairly sure the rat inside of his shirt had been dead. It had reeked like it was dead. And he’d shaken it out back into the gutter.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yen,” he managed to grate out, his throat raw and painful. She shoved a bucket in front of him just in time and he threw up so hard it scalded his nose. Yennefer, who couldn’t be bothered to pick up a dead fly from a windowsill, helped him hold the bucket and kept a hand on his hair to keep it from slipping forward. He could smell blood and ale. Of course he could.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Did you not bother to eat any food before you decided to drink yourself into a stupor?” she asked incredulously. It doesn’t excuse what happened to him, but if his reflexes had been any less dulled he might have escaped some of the harm. Unlike a great many other people who had no hope of escaping what went on in disreputable dark alleys.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He looked at her, and she touched his cheek.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s not your fault,” she told him. “I just wish you’d gotten a few more strikes in, that’s all,” she said. Aiella had taken her to task once for yelling at one of the servant’s patients. It’s not their fault someone was awful and took advantage of their weakness. Not everyone can choose to be strong all the time. Not everyone has power, and even people with power can lose it. His knuckles were barely bruised, and she knew he didn’t do much to defend himself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>One of the servants took the bucket once it was clear that Geralt’s stomach was completely emptied. He’d soaked for a while longer, trying to gather himself emotionally. He didn’t feel right. Yennefer slipped her arms around his shoulders from behind, her fingers interlaced in front of him. He looked at her wrists, the thick scar tissue there, and lifted his hands to touch gently, dragging his index finger over her skin. She moved her arms when another servant brought her more baking soda and water for him to clean his mouth out with. He did, and stood up, ready to be out of the bath and to find a place he could sleep.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A few words in Elder later and the bathwater splashed onto the cobblestones outside of her home. A cat yowled in irritation and presumably chose another window to hide under. “Stay in the tub please, for a few minutes. You’re still bleeding. It’ll be easier to rinse you off if you aren’t on the floor.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt stayed, body aching. Now that he’d had time to think about it, he’d realized that he didn’t hurt anywhere he hasn’t hurt before. It might not be ideal, but at least it was familiar. She dried him herself, looking over his arms and shoulders for anything that required bandaging. His torso was black and blue from the sternum down and she knew they kicked him half to death. Or would have if he’d been a normal man. “Thank god you’re a witcher,” she breathed lightly, doing her best not to hurt him as she dried his back and stomach. “You’d be dead otherwise, just like you wanted,” she told him bitterly. “Ice is coming, I had thought to put it on your jaw before I knew it was broken. Now, I think you can decide on your own where you want it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She carefully eased the towel between his legs, “You almost lost your twig and berries, too,” she commented dryly. “I hope you’re well pleased,” anger shook her voice. Anger that she could have lost him, anger that anyone was vile enough to hurt someone like this in the first place. She’d always been angry when Aiella had a new patient. Frequently the people creating new patients went missing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When he looked at her face, he could see her lip tremble and her hands shake when she dried his legs and he knew she was not truly mad at him the way she was acting. She was definitely upset with him, but her scent reeked of fear, not anger. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He couldn’t have felt worse if she’d done this to him herself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t make me cry,” she told him sharply. Once she was satisfied that he was dry from the waist down she took a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, too,” she told him. “You’re all dismissed, I’ll leave the laundry by the door, knock once when the things I’ve asked for are ready, and then leave them by the door,” she instructed, and the few servants still in the room left. She waited a beat, making sure they truly were gone. “Should I be worried about you bleeding internally, can you tell?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t think so,” shame suffused his body. He looked at her, and they both knew at the very least he was torn badly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“How do we do this?” she asked him, “Do you want me to try and finish patching you up in bed? It looks like they didn’t cut you up much, just scraped you a little and bruised you.” Except for his head and hips.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You said I was still bleeding?” he croaked, his throat aching.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“There’s broth coming, I have an additive that should soothe some of that,” she promised him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The bleeding?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Your throat, you sound awful.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll be alright, I just need my clothes and I can go,” he told her, feeling like he’d swallowed broken glass.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t be utterly ridiculous.” She knew how much he hated being called stupid. How much it stung him like a whip each time. “You’ll stay here until you’re better. Besides, you haven’t got any clothes, not yet. I sent a servant to a tailor I know who keeps odd hours, you’ll have something soon. But you haven’t even got a clout to go out in, so you’d best resign yourself to staying here.” She tsked when she saw blood as he carefully stepped out of the tub, both hands on the edge. She caught his thought, prayer really, that the tub wouldn’t tip as he leaned on it. She stepped over and gripped his hand, lending him some of her strength. “Lie face down on the bed, unless you’ve a better idea.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He grunted lightly in response, his entire body locking up once he was on the mattress. She used one of the damp towels to lightly mop up the trickle of blood again, leaving it against his body to catch more, should it be needed. His eyes burned with tears, for all he had no idea why that was happening. There was no sand or dirt in his eyes, it made no sense for them to tear. They were only supposed to do that when there was debris under the lids.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She left him alone to check the door, pleased to see some clothing already and a mug of warm broth, and a tureen repurposed to hold ice, with fresh towels and linens on the tray to hold the ice. She brought it into the room and looked over at the witcher. His entire body was tight with misery. “We’ll stop up the bleeding, get some food into you. I’ve got clothes here for you, and ice for your bruises. Then we’ll go to sleep.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“How?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“How what?” She looked at him, “Salve, I would hope. It’s barely a trickle. I have remedies I made myself, imbued with magic. They’re meant for cuts, not tears, but it should work the same. Would you like to do it yourself?” she went over to her dresser, setting the tray down and pulling out a jar and uncorking it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He took a deep breath, and tried to turn his head enough to look at himself. It ached, his muscles ached, his shoulders were sore and he had a feeling they were held at odd angles while he was pummeled. “It’ll take me five times as long,” he told her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I suppose that’s as close as you’ll get to telling me you’d rather I did it,” she walked over to sit on the bed next to him. “I’ll get it over some of the scrapes on your chest and knuckles right after, and the one on your face. So you won’t have to feel that last.” She knew he was extremely tactile, and while he wouldn’t be able to erase this from his memory, he could at least feel her touching him in other places so that would be what was strongest.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His body was so tense she couldn’t bear to touch him. “Would you prefer I called a healer, or Aiella? Someone stranger to you so it’s less personal?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No,” he told her with an edge of panic. He was allowed to say ‘no’ to her, and he has gotten quite comfortable doing it. “I don’t…I don’t want more people to…” he took a few shuddering breaths. “You do it,” he couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t want more people to know. To see how weak he was. The more rumors that go around... he trusted her staff not to gossip, but a healer? He also couldn’t bear the idea of another stranger touching him intimately.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Then you have to relax a little. Or it will feel worse, and if you’ve tightened up everything the salve might not reach everything it needs to.” She gently stroked his back, avoiding the bruises. She gave him the time he needed to force his muscles to unlock. He couldn’t relax or go limp, but he was trying.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When she was done, he burned with self-loathing and pain. It was difficult to put the smallclothes on, the sleep shirt was no easier. It was undyed linen and soft, but clearly not made for him. It was too large, but he’d prefer that to too small. His shoulders ached and Yennefer had to help him get it over his head. “Do you want me to add poppy syrup to the broth?” she asked him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He considered it for several long minutes. It wouldn’t last very long, but it might last long enough for him to sleep. The ice felt good and she promised him if he fell asleep and it melted all over the mattress it was alright. She could magic it dry in the morning when her powers were replenished. “Yes,” he said. It would be better to have something take the edge off the pain.</span>
  </em>
</p><h2>
  
</h2>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am on a trip for the next few days, and deeply dislike flying because of claustrophobia issues. Feel free to leave me a comment on the fic to give me either a distraction before I board, or something to look forward to when I land. </p><p>The fic is almost entirely finished, I'm on chapter 9. Sorry fam I think it's gonna take 10 to tell the story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>CW: masturbation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to my beta aah-fuck, as per usual. This story goes nowhere without you. </p><p>Thanks to the kind people commenting and encouraging me. :} I appreciate it. I am enjoying all the meta discussion when it happens.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier’s jaw drops and his heart pounds in horror as he understands what Geralt is telling him. When the witcher sits up and looks at him in confusion, Jaskier pulls him back down into a tight hug. Geralt melts into his hold, pressing his face into the bard’s collarbones. “I suppose I will have to stop speaking so badly about her,” he whispers and feels Geralt hum in contentment against him. The rumbly bass thrums through him and he kisses the top of Geralt’s head.</p><p>Geralt tips his head up and presses his lips against Jaskier’s. Maybe now, maybe now it will be okay. He hadn’t really kissed many people before Yennefer. Whores were not overly interested in play-acting the steps of making love, especially not with a witcher. When the bard pulls away, he sighs discontentedly. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” he asks in confusion. </p><p>“Geralt, you know as well as I do, friends do not kiss. Not like that,” his whole being aches to keep going. Jaskier pulls away with regret. Geralt’s body against his is comforting, and of course he longs to do more, to spend more time against him, kissing him until both their lips are red and swollen. Until kissing was no longer enough and -he tore his thoughts away, breathing in slowly through his nose. </p><p>Jaskier fusses with his hands for a few moments and realizes he will have to confess. Of all the awful times and places. “I know you’ve explained to me in Kaer Morhen you and the other boys, when you were young, had… experiences. I don’t know how to describe it. You’ve been helpfully vague. I can’t tell if you’ve tried to tell me you had sex with each other, or just fooled around.”</p><p>“Fooled around,” Geralt grunts helpfully. He knows the difference now. He’s relatively nonplussed by Jaskier’s rejection. Similar things have happened before and he’s used to being denied. It doesn’t especially hurt. Yennefer had also explained that sometimes people just weren’t in the right mood even if otherwise it would be fine. Not that he ever tried to force his affections on people. It had just seemed like Jaskier might have liked to kiss. </p><p>“Did you kiss each other, too?”</p><p>“No, didn’t know about it.” Not really. Yennefer had been his first proper kiss. The first person to kiss him because they wanted to and didn’t want anything else from him. She had also, of course, kissed him in Rinde to set a spell. Which had been far less pleasant. But she had also sent Jaskier by portal to stop Geralt from being punished by the priest or council, saying it was a spell she cast on him. The situation had not been ideal, but all their kisses after that had been perfectly nice. She had taught him a great deal.</p><p>
  <em> They’d travelled hard that day and had settled comfortably around the campfire. Jaskier had not expected Geralt to start fondling himself after they’d eaten. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Geralt, what are you doing?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What it looks like,” the witcher had told him calmly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yes, I can see that,” he said, throat squeezing tight. He made eye contact briefly and looked away, unsure of how to react. He didn’t want to make things even stranger than they already were. Geralt gave him a look as if to say ‘then why ask?’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Why?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Feel like it,” he’d replied, working the laces of his pants loose so he could get his hand under his trousers. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Is this, is this a thing that you do?” Jaskier had asked, trying not to stare as Geralt ran a thumb over the head of his cock, spreading precum across it, he could see the light sheen left behind in the light of the fire. He swallowed hard and pressed his legs together. His heart was pounding and he felt like he couldn’t take a proper breath.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sometimes,” he’d started moving his hand, but then stopped and looked at the bard. “Not okay?” he asked. “Should I help you, first?” he offered in confusion. Geralt had been able to sense the bard’s arousal and hadn’t thought anything of it. Not until the questioning started, at the very least.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, no, that’s quite alright, and I suppose it’s fine, you… you keep doing whatever it is you need to do,” the bard choked out, flustered. “Who, who uh, have you done this with?” Since Geralt seemed in a somewhat expansive mood. He tried to even out his breathing to calm his racing heart, and did his best to only look at Geralt’s face. Which led him to imagine what it might look like when the man came under him. Internally cursing, he shifted his focus back to Geralt’s impassive face, wondering what it would take to make that expression shift.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Other witchers, in the keep,” he shrugged.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Is it… required?” Jaskier asked, needing some kind of distraction from Geralt’s hand. The witcher shifted a bit by the fire, pushing his pants a little lower. The bard ran a tongue over his lip and tore his eyes away. Thankfully, Geralt wasn't watching him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No,” Geralt snorted. “Just more fun to touch each other than yourself,” he offered. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “So this is how it worked, when you were growing up there?” he couldn’t help but feel oddly fascinated. It wasn’t entirely shocking that a group of all boys trapped together in a castle being routinely pushed to the limits of their endurance -physical and mental would find ways to comfort each other. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yes.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You don’t seem, it doesn’t,” the bard hesitated. “You don’t seem much flustered,” he tried. The witcher’s breathing hadn’t changed, he was still alert and looking around the campsite head occasionally tilting when he heard animal sounds in the night. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Didn’t want to get caught, learned to be quiet” he explained. It had gotten easier once they hadn’t had to live dormitory style and only had to share a room with one or two other boys. Far less noise, and far more trust from their teachers. No more bed checks. He had slept in Eskel’s bed every single night once they’d been assigned a room. They took turns holding each other and helped each other relieve the stress of the day whenever it was necessary. He had and Eskel had not gone further than touching each other, not being particularly interested in each other like that. There were vague rumors among their group that some of the boys had been more intimate, but Geralt had not been interested in finding out if there was any truth to it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What would happen if you got caught?” Jaskier asked, thinking of the times he’d gotten caught with other students in his bed. Outside of a lecture, a few threats and maybe some dirty looks from his professors not much had happened. It was somewhat expected that students would get randy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Depends on how many times,” Geralt had shrugged, hand slowing down a bit. “First offense was a hiding with a belt.” He knew from personal experience. And he hadn’t even been caught in the act. He’d fallen asleep with the other boy afterwards, and they hadn’t woken up in time to retreat to their own cots before the training master came in. “Caught again, no food, hit you again, and you ran the Killer extra.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Do you miss any of your fellows? The ones you, y’know,” the bard gestured awkwardly, wanting to turn the conversation. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling sweat bead at his hairline. The air around him felt a little thin, as if he was in the mountains and he did his best to even out his breathing. He would give anything to join in. Just not under these circumstances.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>  As uncomfortable as he was, Geralt had enough reasons to think he didn’t fit in, and the bard didn’t want him to add this to the list. It’s not like it was unnatural. Maybe the fact he was being open about it, but not the act itself. Not to mention plenty of people paid to watch others, and there were far worse things that could be done in front of a friend. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sometimes,” Geralt told him, finally closing his eyes as his hand pumped faster over his cock. He got up awkwardly after another few minutes, presumably to make a mess somewhere other than their campsite. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Deeply uncomfortable, Jaskier found the strangest part to be the fact that had he not seen Geralt’s hand he never would have known he was doing anything other than sitting there. His face had never changed, nor had his breathing, and he hadn’t made a single sound to indicate he was taking any pleasure from what he was doing. It seemed oddly bleak. Geralt had been slightly more circumspect after that, usually waiting until Jaskier had gone to sleep. Not that the bard hadn’t woken up once or twice to the rustling of fabric in the night. </em>
</p><p>“That makes sense to me,” the bard sighs. “I also know you are aware sex with Yennefer was different than what you did with them, and what you’ve done with whores and other women in the past.”</p><p>“I made <em> love </em> to Yennefer,” Geralt corrects, almost sounding irritable. “I know the difference.” </p><p>Jaskier holds in a laugh, but he can’t help but be surprised. “I don’t doubt it,” he says faintly.</p><p>“I do,” Geralt insists.</p><p>“I really do believe you, love. That’s another reason why I don’t want to just fool around with you. I don’t want to…I don’t want us to be like that. I don’t want it to be casual. I know you think that’s what I want, or maybe it really is what you want. And I treasure our friendship. I don’t want to give that up or lose it.” A shiver runs through him when Geralt curls in against him. Jaskier hesitantly settles an arm around Geralt’s shoulders. It feels good to be close even though he knows that the witcher doesn’t mean anything by it. If he’d wanted to be provocative, he would have been.</p><p>“You’re happy to be casual with every woman who sits in your lap in the bars,” Geralt points out.</p><p>Jaskier raises his eyes to the heavens for a moment, wondering why this has to be the one conversation Geralt is willing to pursue. Heaven forbid he want to talk about something normal or easy. No, the one time he decides to drop his guard and be verbose it has to be about why the bard won’t fuck him or give him a hand job. “And I used to think that was what love was. Ephemeral, fleeting, and easily lost. Like a soap bubble that floated away, lifting you higher until it popped and you realized it was empty all along. I used to think I loved all the trysts, and that they would all end. Now I know love is very different.”</p><p>“What is love like?”</p><p>“You tell me, you said you knew the difference.”</p><p>Geralt struggles for a while. How could he put into words what he had with Yennefer, or what he feels he has with Jaskier? His heart freezes in his chest and he realizes what he’s truly asking of his friend. “Trust,” he whispers softly. “Love is trust.” He wants to trust Jaskier. He isn’t sure what he feels, not in the way the bard would be. “Love is…when your stomach twists,” he adds. Then, feeling very bold, heady with the idea no one is stopping him from talking or mocking him, “It’s feeling good together.” He’s describing feelings and no one is hurting him.</p><p>Frozen, Jaskier struggles to breathe. There’s something oddly beautiful about that, ‘love is trust.’ Geralt trusts him, he understands. He’s known that for years. Just like he thinks that the witcher might be confessing an interest in him, and his heart rate spikes.</p><p>“Alright?” Geralt asks him, concerned, reverting to single word sentences in his distress. Perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken so much. But Jaskier asked him to. Just like when his masters had asked him to, he had to elaborate and keep going until he answered the question.</p><p>“Yes, love, of course,” Jaskier tells him, stroking his hair. The little farmhouse is so full of love, maybe that’s why this is so much easier than it might otherwise have been. The boys have gone back to the fields with their father, and if Jaskier listens very carefully he can hear Ivana and her mother singing together while they work. Their voices are soft and he feels vaguely like crying.</p><p>The world had been so ugly to them of late, it was so wonderful to find an oasis of peace, if even for just a day or two. They were welcome until Geralt killed the wyvern, and then they would collect the bounty and move on.</p><p>“What is love to you?” Geralt dares to ask, voice a soft rumble low in his throat.</p><p>“Love is a pear,” Jaskier tells him and Geralt snorts. “How would you describe the shape of a pear? There’s nothing else like it, it’s pear-shaped. You know when you see it, it’s sweet, and can be sour, it has its own texture unlike anything else. It doesn’t taste like an apple. Or a cherry. And even when you consume it, there’s seeds that can be planted, and you’d never forget it. You can grow more, and there’s flowers, and offshoots, and when someone says ‘pear’ to you, you can still taste it. You can remember the juice breaking over your chin, and the smell of it as you bite into the skin…the odd texture of it, sort of grainy, but it’s a beautiful contrast to the fruit inside…”</p><p>“You make the stupidest things sound beautiful,” Geralt tells him sleepily.</p><p>Not sure if he should be offended or grateful, he snorts. At least Geralt is talking. It’s rare enough he has trouble being angry even if Geralt is being unpleasant. He remembers the first time Geralt had really <em> spoken </em> to him. It was as if the witcher had just been waiting for permission. Jaskier found the more he learned to ask the right kinds of questions, the more his friend opened up to him.</p><p>
  <em> Geralt had an odd habit, after his time with Yennefer, of just saying random things he’d read in books. Jaskier had not understood that he was trying to start a conversation. In Yennefer’s home in Vengerberg, Geralt had spent most of his free time reading and had come to expect to talk to the sorceress about his interests when she had time later. He’d mention something to her, and she would expand the conversation with him. She knew the books he was reading; they were hers after all. With her ability to read minds, she also knew he was trying to engage her. He wanted to share, he wanted to talk, he wanted to express what he was feeling and thinking and debate someone about things he thought were wrong or just plain stupid. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She had been happy to be his foil in those endeavors and had enjoyed the intellectual challenge. He was a quick thinker, had a dry wit, and a good knowledge of how the world worked. He had had a rough recovery and had found solace in her library. It had been good to see him come back out of his shell again. She had hated the moping, but her head servant had frequently reminded her it wasn’t moping, it was healing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He had felt violated by the healing in many ways. It had upset Geralt to know that she knew what had been done to him, upset that it made her angry. He did not, and could not, understand she was not angry with him. Especially not when the sight of him made her reek of anger. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He had found it was easier to hide away. When he had parted ways with her eventually, he had taken up with the bard again. Happy to have a companion and not to be alone. It had been odd to find he didn’t like being alone anymore. It was miserable. After they rejoined he had tried constantly to engage the bard in conversation. It never seemed to work. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>  Initially, Geralt had said things like: ‘Vanderwolf is an idiot of a historian.’  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And Jaskier had had no idea what to do with that, and while he agreed, he’d just say things like ‘that’s true’ and leave it alone.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Other days he would say ‘That kind of bird mates for life and if its mate dies they have funerals.’  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘That’s nice, thank you.’  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then one day, Geralt just stopped. He had retreated even further into himself, speaking less and less until he just stopped altogether. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When Jaskier had finally figured out Geralt was trying to tell him things, he cottoned on and started asking or pushing back. ‘What did you say about Vanderwolf last week?’  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘He’s stupid.’  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Why?’ And so Geralt had started talking again. In stops and starts, drips and spurts, but he’d started again. He’d been less tense, and he had resumed looking at his friend more often as they walked together. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Eventually he had asked ‘What all can you see that I can’t? What’s it like to be a witcher?’ as they’d passed through a beautiful set of gently rolling hills and trees. It couldn’t have been more picturesque unless perhaps there had been a stream rolling through it, or it ran into the sands of the ocean. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Baby bunnies, the nest right there. And at the crest of the hill,’ Geralt had stopped walking and stepped up behind Jaskier, pressing their bodies in tight. He’d put his cheek against the bard’s, a few days of stubble on both making their cheeks scrape against each other slightly. He had pointed as he spoke, making sure the bard at least saw the movement or the way to tell with normal human eyes. ‘The mama bunny is keeping watch over her babies. See her? She’ll run if we approach the nest, try and distract us from her young. Predators are attracted to movement, and far more likely to chase her than the easy meal they’ll forget about right in front of them. At least, stupid predators.’ He had turned the bard with him, one hand around Jaskier’s middle as he clamped the other man to his chest. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jaskier had been so glad Geralt wasn’t looking at him or paying him any mind, he could not have hidden how aroused he felt at Geralt’s closeness if his life had depended upon it. Nor could he have hidden the surprise on his face when he heard Geralt say ‘mama bunny’ in a soft voice as he pointed her and her babies out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘There, that taller tree? The pine? There’s a nest of red kestrels, see them? Babies. Up,” he’d put his hand under Jaskier’s chin and lifted his head gently, directing him to the bird soaring above them. ‘She’s hunting for them. Watching the grass. She might eat rabbit tonight, or not at all. Or even something else.’ He’d let his arm drop away to point as he turned them again. ‘I can hear that mouse chewing the seeds in that flower, his teeth grinding against each other as he nibbles. He knows the kestrel is in the sky, but he has to eat.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The bard had felt almost overwhelmed by all that Geralt was telling him. The headiness of being that close together, the soft gravelly tone by his ear finally, finally speaking to him, sharing with him and just him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘The butterfly there? It’s poisonous, but that won’t stop anything from trying to eat it. Some animals are immune to it. The wind, breathe, can you smell it? I can smell the deer carcass some ways away, but at the same time I smell ripe berries on the vine, digging into the trees as they grow. The rotting smell of leaves and detritus, the dirt of the path as the sun heats it, someone wearing far too much body oil passed through, dripping their sweat and perfume into the trail. Breathe, slow, just like they taught you at Oxenfurt I’m sure, in through your nose, out through your mouth. There’s different types of pine around us, they all have a different scent. That one, there, has a resinous sap I can use over wounds if I get hurt. It will bind them. It will also ruin any fabric that touches it, which is why it makes a good temporary glue. In a pinch, it can also be safely eaten.’ They turn again. ‘Roach is a little too warm, she’s got mud in her hooves, and in the mud she’s walked through mouse droppings, someone’s old lunch, some of that oil and sweat from earlier, fallen leaves, and more. It’ll fall away as we talk some, the ground is dry.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He looked around breathing deeply. Jaskier felt his ribs expand and breathed a sigh of longing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘The flowers have been walked through, but without getting closer I can’t say if it’s human or animal, I smell big cat but I’m not sure what kind. I don’t know enough about them. There’s buttercups, and dandelions,’ he smiled but Jaskier couldn’t see it. ‘Baby’s breath, other wildflowers, some I know the names of, some I don’t, but I can smell them all.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He resisted the urge to reach a hand up and tangle his fingers in white hair, to turn Geralt’s head and slot their mouths together and kiss him hard. He hadn’t. Geralt had pulled away after a few more deep breaths, one he pulled in through his mouth like a cat. Jaskier had refused his advances to share some ‘comfort’ many a time and once he had become aware of the bard’s arousal he had retreated. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jaskier had not slept properly for days after that, frantically writing and scribbling about his witcher who could tell the story of the world from nothing more than the scent of the wind across his face. </em>
</p><p>“Geralt?”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“I…” for once, Jaskier finds himself without words. He cards his fingers through Geralt’s hair, his mouth suddenly dry. He has to tell him. It’s not fair. “I can’t have casual sex or fool around with you because I love you. You’re the reason I know love isn’t like soap bubbles. It doesn’t disappear, or pop, or leave you wanting. I never thought I’d find myself in a place where I would turn down any kind of carnal pleasure, but I can’t bear the idea…I’d rather just be your friend. I’d rather that’s all it was. If I can’t have all of you…” His mouth is too dry to keep the words flowing, and he trails off, heart pounding. </p><p>“Love is a pear?” Geralt asks him again quietly.</p><p>“Absolutely impossible to mistake as anything else, or describe as anything other than what it is,” he says with quiet conviction. “You taught me that.” He’s almost relieved that Geralt doesn’t comment on his confession. It had killed him to get it out, wondering if he would drive the witcher away. Better to have it ignored than to have it drive a wedge between them. He wipes his sweaty palms on the bedsheets. </p><p>“If I bring you a pear, will you finally understand what I’ve been trying to tell you?” Geralt asks him quietly. He feels oddly comfortable, resting against Jaskier’s chest, even if the other man’s heartbeat is aflutter. The hardest part of the conversation was trying to explain feelings. Now that that was over, it was easier to admit to them. It was almost as if he’d been waiting for months for Jaskier to tell him what he was feeling was true. </p><p>“If I say yes, you’ll stop insisting you don’t have feelings?”</p><p>“I didn’t know love was a feeling, I thought it was a fruit,” Geralt tells him and it takes Jaskier a second to hear the dryness of his voice and know he’s joking.</p><p>“You’re an absolute bastard when you want to be, Geralt,” Jaskier tells him thickly. He’s unsurprised when Geralt sits up and considers his expression.</p><p>“You’re crying.”</p><p>“Yes, you…oh, I don’t even have words right now, I could strangle you.” He knows Geralt doesn’t understand why he’s upset. Not that he’s sure he’s upset; he might be happy. Well, he’s happy Geralt loves him, and relieved he’s gotten his own feelings off his chest. Upset with himself for not bringing it up sooner, if this had been something Geralt was ready to talk about. Or perhaps it wasn’t, perhaps this was the right time and nothing had been lost and everything had been gained. Jaskier cups Geralt’s cheek gently and kisses him softly on the lips. When Geralt melts against him, he half expects the witcher to push things. Geralt doesn’t, just withdraws slowly.</p><p>“Are you mad at me?” he asks quietly. The fluttering pulse, hitched breathing, and tears didn’t seem like the best of signs. He was starting to feel a bit of doubt about the choice he’d made to say something about loving Jaskier. Or perhaps it was the kiss that was wrong? </p><p>He’d wanted to kiss Jaskier so he had. Yennefer had also taught him that sometimes you had to take a risk like that. Sometimes you should ask first, but other times if you were sure it was right, you should take the risk. He still loves her, he’s sure he always will. At least as much as he’s able to love anyone or anything.</p><p>“Why would I be mad at you?”</p><p>“You just said you wanted to strangle me,” Geralt points out, unsure of what he did wrong. “Should…should I not have said anything?”</p><p>“I’m not mad. I just found it ridiculous you would choose to make something beautiful into a joke. But I suppose it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.” He can see Geralt backtrack the conversation in his head, trying to figure out where he would have joked.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says. Perhaps he should have waited to make the fruit joke. He studies Jaskier’s face, his own expression becoming fearful. The bard’s tears and general discomfort beginning to eat at him. Maybe he had done something wrong. Of course he had. He shouldn’t have said anything, but he’d wanted to. Needed to. He didn’t want to go back on it, either, he wanted to see where it led. No matter how bad the consequences might be. “Don’t, don’t…if we,” he struggles to figure out what he wants to say. “If we pass another witcher,” he seems to twist in on himself without moving so much as a single muscle. “Don’t tell them the mutations failed,” he whispers.</p><p>“What?” Jaskier stares at him in horror. “They…what? Oh Geralt,” he wraps his arms around the other man tightly. “Your eyes are different, your hair bleached, your reflexes enhanced, nothing failed. Nothing is wrong with you, Geralt.”</p><p>“They botched it,” he insists. “They were supposed to take the feelings away and they botched it.”</p><p>“No, they didn’t. You…Geralt, I can’t believe any potion could take away feelings. Feelings are what make us human, and you, whether you like it or not, are one of the most human people I’ve ever met. You’re good, and kind, and yes you can be an absolute ass end when you want to be, but that’s nothing bad. We’re both tired, and I won’t listen to you being utterly ridiculous like that. Let’s get some rest, alright? We can talk about it in depth later if you want to. But no, there is nothing wrong with you. You are <em> not </em> some botched experiment.”</p><p>Geralt sighs, he can already tell he won’t win this argument. He’s not entirely sure Jaskier is right. But he’s not so sure he’s wrong either. Maybe they wouldn’t have given him extra potions if he had been successful, though. If he had been good enough, they wouldn’t have felt like he needed extra. It made no sense otherwise. He settles back into Jaskier’s embrace, glad that even if the bard wouldn’t touch him how he wanted, they could sleep close.</p><p>Little witchers weren’t supposed to sleep next to each other, or much of anything else, but once the nightly inspections had stopped, they had stopped following the rules. Different boys piled together as was their wont and slept in different configurations. On especially frozen nights sometimes they piled together in a heap with as many blankets as they could find.</p><p>Geralt and Eskel had bonded especially tightly, and frequently shared a cot. Geralt slept far better with his arms around his friend. He had been pleasantly surprised when Jaskier had slept up against his back for the first time, and even more pleased when the bard had rolled over and put his arms around Geralt’s middle. It had felt good, and he had slept easier.</p><p>Initially, Jaskier had been embarrassed. Geralt hadn’t understood. It was cold, the fire had burned down some, why wouldn’t they curl up for heat? The witcher hated being cold, hated the fact that while his unnaturally slow heartbeat kept him from bleeding to death many times, it also meant his extremities were frequently frozen. He had been brave enough to inform the bard he had slept with his fellows as often as possible growing up and couldn’t see any reason anyone wouldn’t prefer to sleep that way.</p><p>He would never admit it, but Geralt also preferred when Jaskier was the one holding him, instead of the other way around. Exhausted from their travels, and the added stress of constant social interaction with strangers, he falls into an uneasy sleep.</p><p>Unable to fall asleep as quickly as his friend, Jaskier knows Geralt can more or less force himself into sleep if need be and he feels a bit envious. Geralt’s warm bulk against his chest is soothing, as is the slow and steady heartbeat that echoes through his chest. He had confessed love to many people, and always meant it sincerely. This time was different, he knew. But rather than the earlier feelings of concern or panic, he felt content now. Geralt had responded well, and they were together still, in each other’s arms. He stays awake, unwilling to fall asleep and lose the feeling of peace that had settled over them just yet. He lets his mind wander, but mostly he wonders what changes their conversation would bring. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you again for the comments. I don't know if you guys honestly know how much joy they bring, if I'm being honest with y'all here. I probably like your guys' comments more than you like reading the fic. Just. FYI. </p><p>Hope you all are staying safe out there, and healthy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>CW: rabbit death and preparation of meat for stew</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First of all, thank you to my beta ahh-fuck for literally letting me have the same conversation with you ... too many times. And helping me explore what's really hanging me up without judgement. </p><p>Thank you to everyone who has commented, we're nearing the end here. Just a few more chapters. Thank you for the kudos, too. :} I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and continue to enjoy this peaceful little family.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier awakens first, which surprises him. Being around strangers has worn Geralt out more than he’d anticipated. There is still noise coming from down below, but the door muffles most of it. He can’t have slept for long. Somehow, without waking him up, Geralt had shifted half on top of him, settling his hips between Jaskier’s legs so he can rest his entire upper body across the bard’s chest. “How did you even manage all that?” he whispers softly. Geralt shifts against him, nuzzling closer in. Overall this is nothing new. It’s not as if they haven’t curled up together hundreds of times by now. Still, it feels different somehow, after the conversation they’d had.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt wakes up and stretches slightly, arching his back and flexing his legs to chase away the stiffness. Jaskier is forcibly reminded of a cat arching out with its front legs stretched and its little paws curl as it yawns. He strokes Geralt’s hair gently by way of greeting.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Putting his hands on either side of Jaskier’s hips, he pushes himself up and then shifts so he can sit comfortably between the bard’s legs. Hesitantly, he leans in and kisses Jaskier softly. This time, Jaskier lets him, and kisses back just as gently, both hands coming up to cradle Geralt’s face as they kiss. It’s short, and chaste, and Geralt pulls away after far too short of a time for both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The sweetness of the kiss makes him smile, in spite of the fact it’s by far too short. He loves that Geralt allows him this closeness, now. It had been so hard just learning to trust each other, and to be close. He runs a hand over Geralt’s shoulder lovingly. </span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Allowed now?” he asks, unsure. Maybe he should have asked first.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“In private, yes, I think that’s alright. Geralt, I know you’ve told me thousands of times you don’t feel anything. And we both know that isn’t true. What do you feel when you kiss me?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He nods a little to show he’s heard, but he needs time to think. He’s not sure he has the vocabulary he needs. “Pear shaped,” he offers, trying to replay their conversation from earlier and search for what he needs to make Jaskier understand. He touches his stomach and turns his hadn while clenching it, “Odd,” to indicate the twisting they’d talked about. “I trust you,” he adds. A hand over his heart, “Beats too fast sometimes, around you.” What else? What else does he feel when he’s with the bard? He may not know what his emotions are doing but he can describe the physical sensations well enough. “Clammy,” he adds after careful deliberation. His palms get sweaty sometimes and he certainly feels like that now. “Mouth gets dry.” That’s all the somewhat unpleasant information. “Good,” he adds with a shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Sounds a little like you get nervous,” Jaskier smiles at him fondly. “I can make you nervous?” He knows he shouldn’t be as pleased as he is to hear that. It’s wrong of him, but he loves that he can unsettle the witcher a little. And also make him feel good. “Most of us call the stomach sensation ‘having butterflies.’ As in: I have butterflies in my stomach.” He can see the description isn’t quite working for Geralt. “They flutter about, and bob around, and they can spin and whirl, I know you’ve seen the huge swarms. Imagine that inside your stomach. That’s what people mean.” He gently kisses Geralt again. “The butterflies will fade, so will the ‘odd’ feeling, I hope. And maybe some of the clammy ones, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Will the good part fade? Like the soap bubbles?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No,” Jaskier tells him. “Well, I suppose it might. Did it ever fade for you with Yennefer?” He finds it odd he’s comfortable talking about her. Even if it’s fairly obvious Geralt is still in love with her.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No,” his face softens, and he relaxes. “I don’t think it will ever fade with her,” he adds, feeling guilty. His body tenses and he hunches down. “Jaskier, can someone love two people?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes,” he cups Geralt’s cheek. “Of course they can.” He understands that Geralt cares about him very strongly, and he doesn’t want to push anything. Geralt doesn’t need to say it directly, not yet. They aren’t there yet. It’s amazing how well things have gone so far. Earlier on in their relationship Geralt had tended to lash out when they discussed feelings. In some ways being with Yennefer had mellowed him. And in others Jaskier knows he’s the source of the witcher’s newfound comfort in dealing with previously hated subject matter.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Do they have to pick?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No, I suppose not. Well, it depends. Their partners might care. Or the people they love mightn’t want to share. It’s all very personal. And individual. Do we have to pretend we’re talking hypothetically, or can we address this directly?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Directly,” Geralt tells him after a few moments of careful thought. He wasn’t trying to be subtle, but he had needed some distance to be able to even ask the question. Now he’s had that distance and gotten relatively positive responses, so he doesn’t feel upset about it. He relaxes against Jaskier’s chest, closing his eyes in pleasure when the bard puts an arm around his shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“If Yennefer wanted you back, I would not be angry at you for going.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Wouldn’t leave you,” Geralt protests. Not to mention he had left her, run away just leaving a note and a posey of violets. She hadn’t cast him out. Having to live with what had happened was hard enough, it had been worse surrounded by people who knew about it. “She wouldn’t mind,” he adds, relatively sure that’s the truth. “Might not want you to stay in her house, though,” his eyebrows knit together as he thinks about it. The bard would surely get on her nerves quickly enough. Sometimes he got on Geralt’s nerves. Less so, now. He understands more, now.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. If we come to it,” Jaskier reassures him. He fidgets uncomfortably with his hands and then Geralt’s, playing with his fingers and tracing over the scars. “I have something to ask you, and I know I’m supposed to be a wordsmith. Well. It's a promise I’d like if I’m being honest. I don’t know if I’m jumping ahead of things, or if I’m... if we’re on the same page, and I need you to understand it’s just a request. Not, not something that says anything bad about you, or us, and that I care deeply, I just also need something if we’re to go forward and I-“</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Stop,” Geralt tells him firmly, waiting for the bard to stop dithering. This always stresses him out. “Ask,” he says after waiting long enough for the bard to settle himself back down. The incessant fidgeting eases and Jaskier returns his hand to Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt flexes his fingers, not having liked the franticness of the earlier touch.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I don’t want our relationship to be more than kissing, right now. And sleeping next to each other how we have. Especially in this house, and not until we’ve turned…you’ve turned the wyvern over for the money owed in the contract. Please. I don’t, I can’t fully explain why, other than these people are kind but we don’t know how they’ll feel about us if they knew how we felt about each other. Some people care, some don’t. I don’t want this place to be another dark spot in our memories. And…I don’t want our first time to be rough and scrambled and uncomfortable on the road. Alright? It’s not about you, it’s…I don’t want it to be…I want it to be more.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt considers it for a while. Would he have preferred his first time with Yennefer to have not been in the rubble of the mayor’s house? Probably. He doesn’t understand but he also doesn’t mind. If that’s what Jaskier needs. “Still okay to kiss?” he clarifies. “In private.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes.” Jaskier leans in to kiss him again, and Geralt makes a contented rumbling sound against him. He smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Not because of anything bad?” Geralt pulls back to check, one last time.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No, it’s all about me, and nothing to do with you. I promise. Well it’s to do with you in that I want to sleep with you, but not to do with you in my reasonings I want to wait.” He fidgets a bit again, running a tongue over his lip to wet it. His mouth feels dry. “I know that I’ve never had to repress my feelings, but there are some things even I can’t explain properly. Can you trust that my feelings for you are true, and my want for you is real?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes,” Geralt tells him, he can smell the lust when it happens, so he’s well aware of that being true. Love doesn’t have a smell, not that he can pinpoint anyway. But there’s no other sane reason for the bard to follow him around like this all the time. Friendship hadn’t seemed like much of a reason, but Geralt wasn’t sure how much friendship he had any kind of exposure to. Love makes more sense. People sing more songs about love.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I need to go use the backhouse. Do you want to stay up here, or go down?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I’m not sure,” Geralt says, forcing himself into a full sentence. “I’ll follow if I want to,” he offers. He won’t stay up for long, he’s not afraid of the people down below them. They can’t hurt him all that much even if they wanted to. He’ll be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>After the bard leaves, Geralt stretches himself out in the room until he feels his muscles loosen. He’d felt tense, talking to Jaskier about their relationship and their feelings. He’s not ready for another talk like that for a while. He knows they’ll have to do it again eventually but he doesn’t have to look forward to it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>When he goes down into the kitchen, he can’t help but smile a little bit when he sees Ivana helping her mother bundle the flowers. The little girl is somewhat clumsy but she’s doing her best.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Do you need something?” Melina asks him, and he hesitates. Then nods.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Dirty,” he holds out the hem of his shirt. “Can I use a bucket?” he chews the inside of his cheek for a few moments. “And pump water from the well?” He can clean his own clothes and body.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Of course, will you need soap?” she smiles when he shakes his head. “We have a small little washroom if you’d like to make use of it, do you need me to heat some water for you?” she offers, seeing the way he touches his hair after mentioning his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No, I can manage.” He swallows. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Ivana, show Master Geralt where the bucket is we use for clothes.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes Mama,” she agrees and holds out a hand. Geralt takes it and allows her to lead him to the small little washroom built off the side of the house. There’s some planking to keep the mud from making a mess when the water is dumped out, and a small tub he has a feeling will leak. There’s a bucket next to it, and an empty fireplace. He notes there’s no wood in the rack. If they need some chopped, he can manage it later. Perhaps after the wyvern.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Thank you,” he tells her. She smiles at him impishly and runs back to her mother to help with the herbs.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He’ll need his saddle bags with his spare set of clothes and soaps. He’s somewhat worried his spare shirt is too torn to be useful but it’s not as if he minds wearing a wet shirt. Not that much, anyway. It’s unpleasant to be sure, but there are worse feelings. A quick trip to the barn helps soothe any last raw nerves. Roach is in her stable, and he smiles at her in her stall. She seems content to rest. He pats her neck affectionately and scratches under her jaw after smoothing some loose hairs down on her cheek. She headbutts him gently and lips at his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>After a quick check to see her water is full, she has feed, and there’s nothing else he can do to see to her comfort, he grabs up his things and heads back to the washroom. There, he prepares what he needs before grabbing up the bucket for water. Jaskier will find him. He assumes the bard will want to rinse the travel dust off, too. A little embarrassed at the idea of being naked together after their discussion, he decides to wash himself first, and then his clothes. Less chance of being in a compromising situation.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Igni is sufficient to heat the water enough that life isn’t a misery and he scrubs himself quickly. While he would prefer to soak properly, he has a feeling he might be able to grub up enough coin from the wyvern to afford a room at the inn and order a bath. He manages to get out of the tub about the time Jaskier walks in and he turns his back to Jaskier to dry himself as quickly as he can.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Are you alright?” Jaskier asks, considering it’s not normal for Geralt to be shy of his body. He hadn’t learned to hide it with people he felt mostly safe around. Society in general was one thing, people he shared a sleeping space with were another.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Alright,” Geralt agrees, dragging on smallclothes and breeches as quickly as he can.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Then why aren’t you behaving like normal?” Jaskier asks him, watching as Geralt holds up his spare shirt only to find it’s mostly shredded. “You’ll need to patch that. Or I suppose you could try and start a new fashion trend, leave your muscles hanging out. Especially your pectorals, I don’t know if I’d mind. Perhaps you don’t need to patch it,” he teases.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt tips his head a little down and to the side and Jaskier knows if he could blush he would. “I’ll get water,” he offers, trying to find a way out of the conversation. He knows he’s expected to talk right now and he doesn’t have answers. It had taken his brain a few extra moments to catch up and remember what they’d said to each other. He isn’t sure he’s happy with himself. But he doesn’t think he regrets it, either. He wants the other man. Geralt’s just not sure he’s ready to deal with the feelings aspect of having said what he said.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Tipping the dirty water out of the tub into what he hopes is the drain, he grabs up the bucket and tugs on his boots before heading back out to get more water. It takes him a few trips and by then he’s feeling more settled. Jaskier is looking at his shirt and holding some of the torn edges together to see if he can do anything with it. Geralt is more than capable of mending his own clothes, it’s just that he does it for practicality, not looks. Which often makes his garments look even more ill fitting than they are.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I think we can salvage it. But when we reach the town, you’ll need to buy a new one. Perhaps we can exchange it with a rag picker for another one. You can always dye it black yourself if we can’t find one that’s already been done.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Hmm,” he agrees easily enough. Focusing on the sign, he heats the water for his friend and indicates the bath is ready. He freezes in shock when Jaskier comes over and kisses his cheek before starting to strip down to bathe. “Water for clothes,” he says and holds up the bucket, needing an excuse to leave again.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier is relatively untroubled by Geralt’s odd behavior, it’s nothing new. He tends to be startled by himself whenever he does something unexpected or admits to something he thinks he shouldn’t have. If Jaskier pushes he’ll get more anxious, and if he leaves it alone Geralt will settle himself down. Mostly what he needs is to know nothing has to change just because he did something slightly different.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He lets Geralt wash his clothes in peace, and takes his time washing up. He doesn’t love to soak the way the witcher does, but he doesn’t feel like rushing through his bath either. When he’s wasted as much time as he can, he gets out, dries off, and changes into fresh, if rumpled, clothing.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Will you let me comb out your hair when you’re done? You know when you just leave it alone you end up with it all snarled and then all that happens is you yank tufts out.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt looks up at him, makes eye contact, and then nods once before wringing his shirt out carefully. He glances around and sees there’s a drying line in the room. Odd, but maybe winters are bad or there’s strong winds. If there’s an outside one he wasn’t paying attention enough to notice it, and this will do. He hangs up his clothes neatly and looks around. There’s no wood for the fire, but perhaps what they do is start the fire, wash clothes, hang them by the fire to dry, and then bathe… that makes sense. How nice it must be to live in that kind of comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Back at Kaer Morhen he frequently wore clothes that were cold and damp. Until you earned a medallion and swords you had nothing, you owned nothing, and you made do with what you had. It was a harsh life. If you survived the training, and then the trials, and changes, you were given personhood. Only to be told no one else would give it to you. No one else would understand you or welcome you home. The keep was home, and finally your things would be your own. Then you could use the nicer bathing chambers, have heated water, extra sets of clothes so you didn’t have to wear them wet…</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Geralt?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Memories.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I know, I know that look. Bad or good?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Just are,” he shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Will you elaborate?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“One set of clothes, couldn’t dry it before putting them back on.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Oh, that sounds vile,” Jaskier says with feeling. “I am sure if we ask if they have a spare shirt you could use until yours dries, they would say yes. Would you like me to ask?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Unnecessary,” Geralt tells him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I know, but you did keep an eye on their toddler. I helped some with the herbs. I have a feeling we’ll do more to help before you get that wyvern killed. Would it be so bad to borrow something dry for a few hours while we mend your spare shirt? Besides, Melina might not like you dripping on her floors.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Ask,” Geralt agrees. “I’ll wash clothes,” he holds out a hand and Jaskier smiles and passes over his dirty clothing. Geralt makes a show of wrinkling his nose and Jaskier makes a face at him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“You’ve been far smellier, and you’ve smelt worse things than my dirty underthings.” The witcher lifts an eyebrow and Jaskier laughs. “I’ll go find you a shirt if I can. You get all that clean so we can have it dry as soon as possible, alright?” He shakes his head when Geralt nods once, and he leaves the small chamber.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Seems like you found the right room,” Melina smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes, I actually had an odd request.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Oh?” She looks up in concern.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Geralt doesn’t have a spare shirt, and he was planning to wear the one he just washed while it was still wet. Could he borrow a spare, or a cast off until the one he has dries?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Oh, of course. That’s easily done. I have one in the mending basket, it’s clean. Roddy’s shoulders are broad and he tore one of the seams. But it’s a small tear, I don’t think it will be too shabby. And it’s better than a wet shirt.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Thank you.” He sees the basket and the plain linen shirt. Taking it in hand, he heads back in and sees Geralt has hung their things, carefully emptied the tub and cleaned up anything else he could think of to do. “Here.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Thank you,” Geralt says as he tugs on the shirt, tucking it into his breeches neatly. He glances at the small tear in the left shoulder and carefully swings his arms. He’s not as broad as Roderick and he doesn’t think he’ll tear it any worse. “Mending pile?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I can do it,” he tells Jaskier. Something to be helpful. Then when his own shirt is dry, he can clean this one and mend it, too.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Well don’t tell me that, tell Melina. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Need to mend my socks,” he adds, glancing at them. They aren’t dry and they’ll have to wait. They need to be darned badly, for all he’s not sure how much of the sock is actually sock anymore. He’s had to repair them so many times.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“We also need to get you some new ones. Even if you think you can still darn those, there’s less material left every time and you wear through them quicker. It’s time to bin them, Geralt. Not that you’ve got spares, and mine won’t fit you anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Firewood,” he also gestures at the empty rack by the fireplace.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes, I am sure they would love it if you did other chores for them, but you don’t have to. If you’re worried they’ll suddenly turn on us, I don’t think that’s the case. I think as long as we don’t hurt anyone and kill the wyvern they’ll stay kind. Otherwise I don’t think she would have told you about the…” he lowers his voice. “The baby. Much less asked you about Eskel, or anything else. Geralt, I think these are good people. You don’t have to keep trying to find things to please them to keep them from hating you.” He hates when Geralt just shrugs in response.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I can help. Witchers help,” he points out.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“That’s often not how people feel about them, not helpers. Just monsters who kill monsters. We both know that’s not true though, you’re more gallant than any knight in a tale,” he grins. Sees the tilt of Geralt’s face and sighs. “I don’t think they’ll be walking in just yet, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No, still in the kitchen,” he agrees after a moment to listen.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Good,” Jaskier steps in closer and telegraphs his intentions carefully. Geralt submits to a hug and then returns it with a contented sigh. It always takes him a moment or two to fully relax into it and respond in kind, but the bard knows he likes being hugged. Initially neither one of them had been sure that was true, especially not when Geralt went rigid in confusion almost every time for several months.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had taken him near a year to figure out how to hug back properly. Jaskier hates to admit some of that was probably Yennefer. He wonders sometimes if Geralt initiated things with her ever or not or if she just knew. He isn’t truly sure he believes sorcerers and the like can read minds, but Geralt had told him they could. Geralt isn’t much of a liar unless he’s dealing with townsfolk, so Jaskier tends to take him at his word.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“If I kiss you, is that alright?” Jaskier asks after a few moments of just standing there and being close. “We don’t have to; I know it might be a bit much to take in. It’s only been a few hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I want to,” Geralt tells him hoarsely, working hard for that full sentence. He knows Jaskier likes it when they have conversations. He is trying, he really is. He’d had to work hard to explain how he was feeling and what he wanted. It was easier when Jaskier asked him about physical things, like what he saw or heard or smelled. It was so much harder with feelings, he almost couldn’t bear it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>The bard smiles and gently kisses Geralt’s cheek first, then the corner of his mouth, and then finally his lips. The witcher doesn’t make a sound, his breathing doesn’t change, but the bard knows how much those kisses mean because both of Geralt’s hands have fisted in the front of his shirt, keeping him close. He slips one hand into Geralt’s hair, the damp strands tangling around his fingers as he lets the other rest over the witcher’s heart. He doesn’t part his lips, or try to part Geralt’s, he just wants to kiss him gently for a few moments.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“So, let’s go back in, I’ll manage your hair, and then you can ask Melina about those tasks you wanted to?” he asks after he pulls away, a little breathless. He knows if they kept going, he’d want more, and neither one of them is ready for that. Neither one of them should do more than that, not yet.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Heart’s racing,” Geralt tells him oddly.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes, I very much like kissing you. You’re quite wonderful,” Jaskier tells him easily.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Not scared?” Geralt chews his cheek a moment. “You’re not scared of me? Your heart…” he tries again, tapping his fingertips to his chest to imitate the rapid heartbeat he’s hearing. He’ll try and talk more. Work on those full sentences. He wants to be worth Jaskier’s time.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No! No, how could I be? Geralt, no. Absolutely not. Not even with your eyes all black from the potions, no. Not even when you’re angry, or frustrated, not, the only time I feel fear when I’m with you is fear you’ll be hurt. Or fear that since you’ve already been hurt you will have a tough time recovering. Or when you’re gone and you’re taking on a tough contract and I worry you’ll be hurt and not be able to come back to me. I fear </span>
  <em>
    <span>for</span>
  </em>
  <span> you Geralt, but I’ve never been afraid </span>
  <em>
    <span>of</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Hm,” he shrugs. Then hesitantly leans in and kisses Jaskier’s cheek. The bard gasps lightly and gave him a tremulous smile. Unsure of what he did that would cause that reaction Geralt tips his head to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I’m alright, go, go’n and ask about the mending. Best if you leave the woodpile alone while you’re wearing a borrowed shirt. Can’t rip the shoulder more,” Jaskier smiles. “I’m just going to check my doublet is hung how I like.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt snorts in response but leaves him alone in the room. “Cleaned up,” Geralt tells Melina, looking around and then realizes that’s a very vague statement. “Cleaned the room, too. Didn’t leave a mess,” he clarifies. “Later, maybe I can refill the woodpile?” he asks her.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Oh, is it empty again? I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No, no, it’s…” he looks at her, and tips his head. “Don’t be scared,” he tells her and holds up his hand to show her flames dancing at his fingertips.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Oh,” she gasps in shock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He quickly clenches his fist and lets the magic fade. “Heat the water myself,” he explains, trying desperately to talk to her but he knows he sounds like an idiot. The problem is the words in his head don’t usually make it out of his mouth. It’s so hard to try and talk to anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That must be handy,” she tells him a little faintly. “I’ve never seen anyone use magic before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t mean to frighten,” he says quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not frightened,” she tells him firmly. “Just surprised. I didn’t know. They said witchers had some things in common with sorcerers, I just thought it was that you’d live forever. I didn’t know. But yes, if you’re worried about the woodpile or just needing something to do, it’s to the side of the house and so’s the axe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. “Mending?” he asks next and internally winces. “I have to do mending, I can do yours, too,” he forces out. His tongue feels like lead in his mouth and he’s not sure he’s doing any of this right. He should have just thanked her for the use of the small room and some water and waited for Jaskier. But some part of him wanted that flush of pride he’d get when Jaskier found out he’d handled this on his own. If it was a contract, he could negotiate it easier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sew?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mend,” he clarifies. It’s not as if he could make a shirt. “Fix seams, darn socks,” he adds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see. That would be useful. The basket is over by the table. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods and settles by the basket, choosing to sit on the floor with his back against the bench rather than at the table. He’s had enough being in line of sight where people might want to talk to him. Also, if Jaskier comes out with a comb he can brush out Geralt’s hair easier if they aren’t at the same height. When he finds the needle and thread, he realizes he's left his own shirt back with Jaskier. The bard will bring it, along with anything else that needs doing. He picks up a small shirt, and suspects it belongs to one of the boys. It takes him a few minutes to find a hole in the side seam and he patiently turns the garment out and threads the needle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier comes out a few moments later, his eyes a little red. He’s holding Geralt’s shirt along with a comb and a small vial of oil. “Where’s Geralt?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Over on the floor behind the table, I think,” Melina tells him, not looking up from her work. She can tell the witcher isn’t interested in talking to her anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind companionship but quiet is nice. She can’t stop her toddler from talking and singing and humming as she sorts plants. Not that she’s doing much sorting anymore. Mostly, she’s playing with a cornhusk doll and knocking the plants around the table. Soon enough Ivana will get bored and need something else to do. But coaxing to show the guests how good she can be has gone a long way. Especially suggestions that if she’s very good the witcher might play with her again after supper if he wasn’t too tired. If she didn’t do her chores, he might have to, and then he would surely be far too tired to play games by the fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a soft sigh, Jaskier walks around to settle himself on the bench behind Geralt. “You don’t have to hide.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not hiding,” Geralt retorts. “You’d make me move anyway,” he points out, shoulders rounding. He’s not talking back. There’s no reason to get mad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s true. It was good of you to anticipate I’d need that,” Jaskier reassures him, gently squeezing his shoulder. “Tip your chin for just a moment,” he asks, assessing where the tangles start in the witcher’s hair. “Thank you, I can manage now.” With the liberal application of a lightly scented oil and patient strokes of the comb he detangles the mess Geralt made of his hair. “I would have washed it for you,” he says in a soft voice. “So it didn’t end up this badly knotted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt just hums rather than answer. Ivana, bored with her doll and her tasks sorting flowers, has shifted around to come watch the bard comb out his hair. Geralt is somewhat surprised she doesn’t decide to interrupt or demand attention or anything else at all. Instead she just watches in fascination. His hair is mostly dry now, and free of tangles. He allows the bard to pull back his hair and put it into a low tail. Internally he heaves as sigh of regret as Jaskier finishes. Geralt genuinely enjoys the grooming process and wishes it could continue longer. Perhaps, one day, he could ask Jaskier if he would just brush it out longer. Even after the tangles are out. It’s unnecessary but…it feels nice. Maybe it would be alright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could braid it,” Ivana offers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you cannot,” Melina answers her. “You will yank his hair and make a mess,” she warns the two men. She has no idea what’s really happening but Geralt has long hair and Ivana likes to fuss with hair. That’s the only reasonable conclusion she can draw. “You can practice on your doll, or you can help me later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The little girl’s face starts to scrunch and Jaskier knows she’s going to wail which will send Geralt out of the house like a scalded cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like to help me play music?” he asks quickly, voice rising a few octaves in panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt gives him a bit of a look, as if questioning his sanity, given he’s just offered to allow a toddler to touch his lute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” the child exclaims, immediately distracted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to be very gentle, or I won’t show you how.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go fetch my lute. You leave Geralt’s hair alone or I’ll change my mind. That took ages to smooth out. He’ll make a mess of it on his own later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t touch!” she tells him in a strident tone that makes Geralt wince a little. It’s just a bit much. It’s easier to deal with loud noises outside where there’s less reverberation. She gets in close to watch him do the sewing. “Boys don’t sew. That’s women’s work,” she informs him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t travel with women,” he tells her dryly. “I can’t go naked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melina snorts and Ivana doesn’t quite get what he’s telling her, but her mother’s laughter makes her giggle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt, will you do me a favor? Will you not mend my boys’ clothes?” she asks him. “Or at least not all of it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he tells her, a little confused. Once he’s finished with the shirt he’d started, he goes through the basket and sorts it out as best he can. The little dresses are obviously Ivana’s, and he has a feeling it would be better if he worked on her clothes next. He can mend his shirt in the dark if he needs to, so it’s not as if he won’t get it done. But this he can do in thanks for being treated decently. Even with his inability to speak properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier is back with his lute and ready to entertain, and Geralt debates going to do the mending outside where the noise will be less. He hunches a bit, determined to just bear it. He likes the bard’s voice, and his songs. It’s just that it will be so much louder in the small house. He’s taken aback when Jaskier very lightly runs his fingers over the strings and sings in a hushed voice. It’s not exactly what Oxenfurt had trained him to do, and he relaxes gratefully. So many of the other bastard troubadours Jaskier seemed to know had felt that being as loud as possible at all times was the best way to be at all times. Geralt strongly disagreed. Being quiet meant less chance of being killed by a monster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although in several of the bards’ cases he would have gladly let them wander alone in a dark forest being as loud as they wanted. They would come to appreciate silence once all the screaming stopped. Of course, in this scenario he would not have let them die. In reality he would admit the situation would probably backfire and the bastards would probably trail him around like Jaskier did, constantly asking questions and pestering him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t recognize the song Jaskier is singing. Or at least, not the tune, but he does recognize the story. He’d heard it before, maybe once or twice. Or read it? Half hoping more memories will come, Geralt’s hands pause, the mending temporarily forgotten as he cocks his head to listen.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So, Jaskier, what’s it like keeping company with a witcher?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tell us, is it terrifying? I hear they’re near as beastly as the monsters they kill.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Geralt? Beastly? Not at all,” Jaskier had said dismissively, almost annoyed. “He’s kind when he feels like it. Just like anyone else.” He felt like he’d said too much. It wouldn’t be fair to talk about how good and lovely and sweet Geralt was just for someone to mock him for the side he hid from the world.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Isn’t it scary though?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, I know he’ll keep me safe. And I don’t traipse right up to the monster with him. He threatened to tie me to the tree by our campsite once, and I believe that he would. I did follow him once or twice, before the threat, you see. Which is what prompted it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“How monstrous are, they, witchers?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“They’re not,” Jaskier had said firmly, almost annoyed. “Not to belabor the point, I know you weren’t always the brightest in class, but surely you’ve heard me one of the first hundred times I’ve told you: he’s just a man. Stronger, faster, and he can see in the dark, but he’s not unlike you or I. Well, he does listen better and ask far less stupid questions.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Can he speak? He’s hardly said a word since we met him. I wouldn’t think he could ask anything beyond ‘where monster?’ ‘get coin?’” they had laughed, thinking themselves clever.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt had heard all of it, from the other end of the library where he’d chosen to hide. He deeply regretted not going back to his and Jaskier’s rooms, or just leaving Oxenfurt entirely. Shame had coiled low in his gut, and he couldn’t have felt worse if he’d tried. It had been hard to focus on the book, a collection of fables that seemed familiar. He couldn’t place it, but if he closed his eyes he could almost smell herbs, flashes of red hair, there was warmth…and a voice, but he couldn’t recall it. Perhaps it was a memory of someone he’d known before he’d been abandoned to the witchers. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Unable to listen to more speculation about just how stupid, exactly, he was, he picked the book up, tucked it under his arm and left. None of them noticed, and later when Jaskier had come in shitfaced and missed the bed, he had let him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Geralt? Are you alright?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Too stupid to know if I am or am not,” he had replied blandly, and put the book away.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Jaskier asked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If you’re too stupid to tell, it’s not my job to clarify it for you,” he’d snapped, surprised at himself. Perhaps because Jaskier was drunk, it had been possible to say what he was actually thinking for a change.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> He could not remember any more than the snippets he’d had in the library, no matter how many of the fables he read. His heart hurt, physically, and he couldn’t understand why. Just that something was missing and he had lost it and he had hoped the book would help him get it back. Incredibly stupid of him, and entirely why witchers weren’t supposed to feel. Or worry about feeling or worry about attachments.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>No new memories trickle in, and he picks up the shirt he’d been working on and quickly finishes the seam. When it finally comes time to work on his own shirt, he holds it up and frowns.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I don’t see what can be done for that, Master Witcher,” Melina tells him, looking up from what she’s doing at the table. “I think, upstairs in one of the chests, we kept some of my papa’s spare clothes. In case our boys would grow into them. He was slimmer than Roddy, but so are you. You’re welcome to one of those shirts instead. At least until you move on, if you can’t find one that suits.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He nods in confusion, not seeing what it matters. All the same he thinks he’s being told to go change out of the shirt he’s borrowing into a different shirt to borrow. It makes little difference to him; he can repair the seam in the shoulder of this one if he isn’t wearing it. Silently, he heads up the stairs to go look around for a clothing chest in all the mess in the attic room. It doesn’t take too long, and he finds a few shirts. Some are very good quality and have some embroidery along the collar and hems. He doesn’t have any interest in those. Beautiful things aren’t for the likes of him anyway. Carefully, he sets those aside and paws through the fabrics until he finds a few threadbare shirts, probably undyed linen but grey from rough soap and hard use. This is probably what she intended him to find. He changes quickly and heads back down determined to finish up the basket. He’s only got a few things left.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Oh, you found his old work shirt,” she says, and Geralt feels he’s done something wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Bad choice?” he asks, eyes darting to Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No, not at all. It seems like it fits fine. I thought there were nicer things up there.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Too pretty,” he tells her. He touches the collar of the shirt he’s wearing. “Embroidery,” he holds up his hands as if she could possibly see all the callouses from across the room, “would snag. I’d ruin it,” he finishes, feeling almost like he’d just run a lap around the keep. He’s not sure how much more conversation he can manage.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier is trying not to stare at Geralt, who is possibly going to give himself a nervous breakdown judging by the cant of his shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Well thank you for thinking of that,” she smiles. No reason to fuss over it. She just hadn’t expected him to pick the rattiest things he could find. It saddens her for all she couldn’t have said why. Melina watches as the bard teachers her daughter the names of the strings and the witcher goes back to the mending. Of all the things for the white-haired man to do, that’s the last one she expected of him. Some part of her had half expected he’d demand to be shown the edge of the forest with the supposed monster inside. Or that he’d be rougher, or scarier in some way. Mostly, he just seems tired.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Once he finishes with the basket, he notices Jaskier has had to move on to other things to keep the toddler’s attention. While she had been fascinated with the lute, she was far too small to truly play it. And learning songs wasn’t really what interested her at the moment. She was eager to go do something and was getting restless. Geralt had little to no interest in dealing with that at the moment and felt it would be more interesting to watch the bard try.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>At the bottom of the basket, he notes some fabric scraps as he’s putting the boys’ clothes back in. “For patching?” he asks holding them up, feeling stupid when he didn’t even try and tell Melina he was talking to her.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>She looks around and it takes her a moment to catch up to what he’s asking. “You can use them however you’d like. I realize I’m never going to.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He nods to himself, and she watches for a few moments as he starts piecing something together on the floor and then gets back to work. It’s about time for her to start preparing dinner. “Ivana, will you show Jaskier where the chickens are?” The eggs had already been gathered that morning, and the birds had been fed. “I am sure he might like to see the chicks.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes!” she says excitedly, bouncing up and practically dancing at the idea of having someone’s attention all to herself while she tells him about the chickens. Jaskier smiles and gives the little girl a fancy courtly bow that makes her laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>By the time they get back Geralt has half finished his project and carefully puts it aside where it won’t get touched. He stretches out his back and shoulders, letting his head roll from side to side on his neck. “Need help?” he asks Melina as he approaches the table.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“If you could cube the potatoes, about like so,” she holds up her thumb and forefinger, “then the same with the carrots?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He nods and sits down to start chopping. She’d peeled the vegetables already. He sees a bucket of scraps, probably for the pigs, half full by the door. Mindful to cut the vegetables the exact size she’d requested, the pieces are near uniform and when he looks up to see her watching he has no idea what he’s done wrong. “Too small?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No, perfect. You’ll have to show me how you do that so quickly.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Hold the blade like this,” he shows her, “then, lots of practice,” he twitches up the corner of his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I suppose if it’s that simple I should catch on. I’ve only chopped thousands of potatoes already. Maybe a few thousand more?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt looks at her, unsure what to do. He tilts his head and realizes she’s smiling. She’s teasing. He tips his chin up and curls the corner of his lips to try and imitate her expression. When Melina’s grin widens, he knows he managed. There’s nothing mocking about it, he knows what mocking looks like. “Maybe, because the blade was dull?” he offers her, as if it had been dull the whole time she’d been chopping vegetables.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I am sure that’s the answer,” she laughs. “That makes the most sense, really. Clearly it’s the knife’s fault, and not mine. I like the way you think, Geralt.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Again, he has no idea what the response is, but he inclines his head, since that seems to be working well for him here. “Thank you.” When people compliment you, you thank them.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“You’re very welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>While he is relatively sure that part is a little teasing, it doesn’t seem mean. Maybe he shouldn’t have thanked her. The vegetables chopped; he finds out he’s to dump them into the pot over the fire. That done she asks if he’d go look for the snares by the road and see if there’s any fresh rabbit to be added. He nods, used to being put to work wherever he goes. It’s a simple matter to go up to his saddlebags and strap on his small belt knife in case he does find the rabbit. He can hear Ivana showing Jaskier around the farm animals as if he’d never seen any before. Geralt snorts in amusement, and takes several deep breaths, casting his senses wide.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He doesn’t hear the frightened scrabbles of a rabbit trapped, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t kill itself in the struggle or get snared around the neck in the first place. Not that he even entirely knows where the snares are. By the road. Probably because of all the tall grass and wildflowers that would make for good hiding for the animals. And stay somewhat hidden from the hawks around.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>As he walks, he continues to breathe deeply until he smells blood. There’s one rabbit, burst heart, he thinks, and he continues on. Entirely by accident he startles one that leaps to the road. It doesn’t make it to the edge before he has it in hand, neck snapped. He hadn’t even quite meant to, it was just he was sent to get rabbits, and now there were two. Geralt takes his time, glad to wander for a few moments alone, in the relative quiet. There’s still all the bugs, and rodents, and birds, and wind in the plants that make it impossible for him to enjoy actual silence, but it’s still more peaceful than the farmhouse.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>A third snare reveals one last rabbit, and he carefully resets the trap once he’s removed the poor animal from it. He’s not sure three will be enough, but there were plenty of root vegetables also going into the pot, and he’s had far worse meals. It isn’t as if he doesn’t also have plenty of jerked meat in his saddle bags if he is still hungry later.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Not too clear on where Melina wants the rabbits skinned, he scents around until he finds a spot that reeks of old blood. This looks about right. There are a few skins drying nearby, stretched out carefully. The work looks well done, whoever did it knew what they were doing. As such, he takes care not to damage the skins as he works and piles the viscera into one. It might go to the chickens, or perhaps the pigs, or she might cook with some of it, he doesn’t know. Just like he has no idea where to put the skins without doing some digging around and he’d rather not pry into their things too much without asking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Glad not to see Ivana around, he has no idea how used to death she is and he’d rather not upset her. His hands are bloody almost to his elbows and he knows the raw meat in his hands must look foul. Truly, he must look like a monster.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Carefully, he raps the window with his elbow to get Melina’s attention. She opens the shutter all the way to lean out and look.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Where do I put it?” he asks her, meaning any part she’d like to take.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“You can add the guts to the bucket, unless…” she realizes she has no idea if witchers need to eat the organs of any animals.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I don’t eat hearts,” he tells her, interpreting her expression correctly. Jaskier would be proud.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I didn’t think you did. Some people do, I’ve heard. Just like I’ve heard up at the lord’s estates they do things like eat pickled swallows’ tongues. Seems like a waste of time to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Here, just hand it all over and go clean up,” she tells him, and he passes her the carcasses.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He is thankful he didn’t get blood all over the borrowed shirt. Once he rinses his hands and arms, he makes sure to check for any speckles of it before splashing some water over his face. He’d already cleaned his knife, and if he’s being honest, he’d rather avoid people for a short while. No one had asked him to do much of anything else for the time being and he’d like to go check on Roach again.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier finds him later, meticulously brushing out Roach’s coat. Her mane and tail have obviously already been done and he has a feeling Geralt is mostly still working just to have more time to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Supper’s about ready, the sun’s low in the sky,” he says softly. “After dinner, you can just go up to bed once you know what time Roderick will want to go to the fields. You don’t have to force yourself to be around people if you’ve had enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Another day, maybe two?” he points out calmly.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes, and we’ll be back on the road. I know. It doesn’t mean you have to make this a miserable memory instead of a pleasant one. No one’s pressing you to do or be more than you are. I think Ivana is quite taken with you. And Melina likes you, Geralt. You don’t have to try and do things to impress her.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Baby,” he points out softly, out of energy to focus on sentences. His hand falters as he moves the brush across Roach’s neck. She whickers softly, nudging his chest and searching him for treats as if she hadn’t done that a hundred times already.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes, there is a baby. And you don’t have to try and fix everything in two days. She has months to go yet. Eight at least, I should think. More mending will accrue, more wood will need chopping. As those boys grow, they’ll help more. Their father can help with other tasks. It’ll be alright. She’s survived three babies without our help. Why are you so worried?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“First time…” he tells Jaskier, unsure how to explain. Geralt gestures with his hand, making a curved shape from ribs to hips. He’s fairly certain he’s never been anywhere near a pregnant woman before. There’s so many smells in cities and towns it’s hard for him to be sure, and while he could track a person if he had to, it’s not as if he’s gone around hunting women to see which are pregnant and which aren’t. He knows to avoid them, just like he knows to avoid babies.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“First time meeting someone and actually knowing them, and knowing they have a babe on the way?” Jaskier suggests, not too sure that’s what Geralt means.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>A sharp nod confirms his guess, and the witcher strokes Roach’s nose before scratching along her neck gently.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“She’ll be fine. With or without us. I’m sure she appreciates the help, of course. But if you’ve had enough, just go walking. Or rest, you don’t have to push.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Didn’t chop the wood,” he points out. He had wandered around for a while looking for the rabbit snares. After that he’d had enough. It had been good to take some time for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“True, I did some of that with Ivana telling me I wasn’t strong like her papa. Quite flattering let me assure you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt glances up at him and snorts, lip curling just a little in a hint of a smile. “Hurt your hands?” he asks, holding his own up.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Not at all! Geralt, you know I can work alongside you when called upon! I fetch firewood and tend the camp, same as you do!” he protests indignantly, knowing he’s being teased and reveling in it. The witcher has gotten better at needling his friend as time goes on. Sometimes the taunts are still a little too pointed, or sharp, but the bard knows Geralt doesn’t mean much by it. When Geralt wants to be rude, he is. He has no need to hide it behind a joke. Jaskier has also often found the things that landed a little too harshly were genuinely things that were confusing or upsetting for Geralt and he was trying to understand them, rather than hurt his friend. It also let Jaskier know some of his teasing had gone too far in the past and had hurt the witcher accidentally.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That wasn’t a very kind thing to say, did you mean it to be unkind?” Jaskier had asked idly, guarding against the hurt. Sometimes Geralt genuinely didn’t seem to know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No,” Geralt had told him, the slight crinkle to his brow indicating he was concerned.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I suppose you had a reason you thought it would be funny,” Jaskier told him, trying to see if they could work out what went wrong. People were frequently outright vile to Geralt, so it wasn’t surprising he might not be good at gentle ribbing. Sometimes it was fine, and sometimes, like now, it hurt a bit more than it should have.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s like what you say to me, but about you,” he pointed out, confusion evident in his tone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If I understand, you took something I’ve said to you, and turned it around on me?” They had taught Geralt to talk as little as possible, frequently leaving what he was saying open for interpretation. The bard had learned to double check in some cases, rather than assume.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes. Stupid witcher, dumb brute, like that,” he clarified, trying to be helpful.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And it hurt you, didn’t it?” Jaskier asked him quietly, knowing Geralt won’t understand what he was saying. “Because it’s stuck in you like a barb…” He had heard his own voice in Geralt’s rougher tones, while he knew it wasn’t an exact quote, it stung to hear himself saying those cruel things.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not hurt, just words,” Geralt shrugged. Words didn’t have the power to hurt you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, I know you aren’t injured. But something about that rubbed you wrong, didn’t it?” Jaskier sighed, licking his lip before clearing his throat to speak and thinking better of it. The other man had gotten cagey, shifting restlessly in the room, picking things up and putting them down at random rather than make eye contact.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No rubbing, either, Jaskier,” Geralt had told him patiently, like he was being simple.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s a turn of phrase, and I know you know it. You’ve used it before, don’t play…” and he stopped himself as he noticed Geralt’s shoulders hunch in anticipation of the word. “Oh, oh, I see. Again, it was an accident. Geralt, I know you aren’t stupid, or a brute, or dumb, or any of it.” He stepped in close, unafraid of the other man. Anyone else would think he was out of his mind, cornering a distressed witcher. Jaskier happened to know this one would melt into him if given half the chance. He put his arms out carefully, so as not to startle, and wrapped them around Geralt’s middle, hugging him tightly. As always, Geralt stiffened slightly in his hold and froze, before responding hesitantly. It took a bit, it always did, and Geralt relaxed into the bard’s embrace, letting his head rest on Jaskier’s shoulder with a soft sigh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not stupid,” Geralt had whispered, and Jaskier had found his heart aching. He could hear the pain in it, the insistence, and knew it cost Geralt quite a bit to say anything at all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know, I’m sorry. I will do better. I promise when I’ve said it, I meant it in jest, I didn’t mean it to shame you.” He had run a hand up and down Geralt’s back until they were both calm, the tension easing out of the other man first. “Are you able to sleep? I’d like it if you’d lay down with me, if you’re able. I know sometimes you’re not as tired as I am.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can sleep,” Geralt had agreed, pulling away to strip out of his boots and change into a fresh shirt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jaskier had felt like things would be better, after that. As Geralt had curled up next to him, pressing his back along the line of the bard’s body, Jaskier knew he would do better. Geralt kept giving him opportunities to leave -had already asked several times if Jaskier wanted to stay in town or have separate rooms. If he was going to keep choosing the witcher, then he was also choosing to help carry his burdens, too. He was finding that while he spoke enough for the both of them, it wasn’t necessarily what was needed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He had leaned over, blown out the candle, and taken a risk that night, slipping an arm around Geralt’s middle and curling around him. The witcher had rumbled and shifted and Jaskier had slackened his grip so Geralt could pull away without hindrance. Instead Geralt had resettled himself closer, putting a hand on top the one over his middle.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They had woken up that way, comfortable and warm. And Jaskier had been careful to avoid certain kinds of teasing, which had allowed Geralt to relax more with him. It had made such a change in their friendship.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Come here,” Jaskier holds his arms out. “Come on,” he encourages Geralt. “Unless you don’t want to, in which case, say so.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Hesitantly, Geralt steps into his arms and presses their bodies together before bringing his arms up around the bard’s ribs. It feels good and letting himself relax and feel safe for a few moments helps make him feel better. He is too self-aware to pretend he hadn’t felt these same things before Jaskier, the sensation of being trapped, or cornered, he knew Jaskier didn’t make him weaker. Having someone who understood those odd sensations and knew how to combat them made life easier. “I hear them,” he tells Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Alright, I suppose that means it’s time for us to go in? Before they think we’ve suddenly disappeared on them or something strange?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes,” Geralt agrees, pulling away reluctantly.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier gives him a small smile. “I know you’re hungry. I am, so you must be. And I know, I know, witchers can go longer without food, you’re stronger, I’m aware,” he says loftily. “But you’re always eating more, and eating when you can, so I know it’s not true that humans get hungry more often. So let’s go get you fed, alright?” He slips an arm around Geralt’s shoulders, offering him less obvious comfort as they exit the barn and head back to the house.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>The meal passes as pleasantly as lunch had, Geralt doing his best to not do anything odd. It’s a comfort to feel Jaskier’s hand rest on his leg, grounding him. He hasn’t found himself wanting to fit in or impress anyone in a long time, and it’s almost painful somewhere under his rib cage. The boys try and engage him in conversation here and there, and he tries. There’s just so much happening with six people eating, and three children talking over each other.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Tomorrow, morning?” Geralt asks Roderick and Jaskier feels the muscle under his hand go rigid.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“What time would you like us ready to go?” Jaskier clarifies, bailing him out. Usually he allows Geralt to handle himself, the witcher is capable, but he’s been pushing hard. When he feels Geralt’s leg relax, he knows he made the right choice.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I tend to go out with the sun, I can always send a boy back if you can’t be up that early.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“If we can’t,” Jaskier splutters, hamming it up to the amusement of the children. “If we can’t? Can’t wake up with dawn?” he dramatically raises a hand to his brow. “Geralt? He thinks we sleep in! As if you don’t have me shoved out of my sleeping roll and packing up camp while you check for monsters before the sun’s even over the horizon, as if we don’t walk sunup to sunset until you find a contract or I a place to play? Ah, can you imagine,” he grins. “We’ll be up and ready. Probably too early,” he grins at Geralt.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Eager for the hunt?” Anders asks. “Ready to kill it?” he’s excited at the idea of slaying a monster without a true understanding of the reality.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Geralt isn’t a killer,” Jaskier says gently. “He’s going to go see if there is a wyvern there, and if there is, he’ll stop it because he has to, to protect people. I don’t think any witcher I know of does it for the thrill of the chase. They do it because it’s who they are.” Some witchers are undoubtedly less pleasant than Geralt, Jaskier assumes. Some might like killing, they’re probably just as diverse a population as dwarves, elves, or humans, but it does no harm to talk them up a bit. “It won’t be fun to go traipse about in the muck, looking for tracks and signs, it’s not a thing he can bring back to cook and eat and share ‘round a fire. It’s a battle where he’ll risk his life to save someone else’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>The table is oddly quiet for a few moments, and Geralt gives Jaskier an anxious look, wondering why he would do that.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>The quiet is broken by Ivana babbling about Geralt doing the mending and the bard teaching her to play the lute. Both boys immediately jump onto their sister, calling her a liar for daring to say a witcher would do a woman’s work.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Speaking of that,” Melina says in a sharp enough voice to forestall further arguments and stop her daughter from bursting into tears at being called a liar. “He did indeed help me with various tasks around the house with no complaint. I thought when Ivana accused him of doing something only women do, he had quite the point to make.” She glances at Geralt and can tell he wants no part of this conversation. “He told her it wasn’t as if he travelled with a woman, who else would do the mending? So, on the off chance your horrible manners mean you’re without a wife, it would be best you learned to fix your own seams and darn your own socks.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>As the boys start to groan Roderick sighs. “I did most of my own mending before I married your mother. We decided to split the chores. It’s easier for her to mind you lot and mend than it is for me to till the fields and somehow bring a sewing basket. We haven’t much switched because that’s how we prefer things. Also, it means I get bit by the mosquitoes more than she does in summer.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“You did not do your own mending! Men don’t do mending and sewing!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“And where did you hear that?” Roderick asks, rubbing at his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“The other boys in the village, and we see the girls doing all the sewing and washing.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Well, until you have wives of your own, your own clothes are your own responsibility now. If the other boys mock you, you can say your parents are forcing you to live as a witcher.” Roderick winks at Geralt who tips his chin up to show he’s paying attention. “In fact, if you’d like to continue to complain, since your mother thatched most of the roof, and helped repair the house when it got storm damage, you can always make your own home to sleep in, and buy your own beds, and sew your own sheets…or you can stop fussing.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“We don’t know how to mend clothes!” Anders protests shrilly.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“And I shall teach you after supper. Stop being rude in front of our guests and pretend we taught you some manners. If you’d like to behave like a pig, I can sell you like one at market.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt internally winces, and he knows he’s bouncing his leg but he can’t stop it. There’s always something worse to come when people speak up or whine or push back and he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. The beating, or the slap, or something, it can’t just end in calm. Even if the boys agree, it won’t just end here. There will have to be discipline to ensure the boys don’t protest or argue with their father again.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Geralt,” Jaskier says gently, putting a hand over his, and Geralt realizes he’s bent the spoon in his hand slightly. He slips his hands under the table to fix the utensil, hoping no one else was paying him any mind. With three children to handle he imagines he’s the least of their worries. Jaskier looks up to see Melina has noticed something is off, but she’s too kind to draw any attention to it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Here, has everyone had enough to eat?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes mama!” the children chorus.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Then please take your dishes to be washed. Along with anything else dirty in the kitchen. Take the bucket out to the pigs and secure the chickens for me. Then perhaps if our friends aren’t tired Jaskier might tell us a story or two while you mend your own clothes for a change.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>After the children depart, rushing and racing, scooping up dishes, Geralt resumes eating. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped, and Jaskier had been right earlier, he was hungry.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“We don’t beat our children,” Melina tells Geralt quietly and her husband looks at her in surprise. “I grew up in town, and the man next to us beat his wife and children something fierce. My papa went in one day, he was choking his woman half to death before my papa beat him to hell and back. Took it up with the council that they’d let it go on that long. Those children were never right. Neither was their mama. I won’t hit mine and I wouldn’t marry a man who did. You don’t have to fear that here.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier looks at her again, and privately feels farm life is wasted on the woman. She clearly has many other talents. He watches as Geralt stares at her for a while, and finally, breaks eye contact and nods.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Roderick glances at his wife for a few moments, and whatever magic that happens when a couple truly loves each other passes over them as they communicate with only a glance.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier glances at the pot on the table, and when he gets a glance letting him know it’s alright to take more, he dishes more into Geralt’s bowl and ignores the look he gets. “I asked first, I promise,” he reassures the witcher. Geralt huffs lightly at him in response but digs into his second helping without further protest. “I can hear them running around out there,” Jaskier laughs. “Are they always that… loud?” he tries, knowing Geralt would desperately like to eat without anyone paying any attention to him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“They’re young. Give them a bit longer and we’ll be putting them to bed. They think they have more energy than they do.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt finishes the rest of his food and thanks Melina again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You helped make it, and it’s not as if we have the ability to store things like this, I might have made too much. So if you’re still hungry, you can take more. Otherwise the pigs will get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He considers her offer carefully. Roderick had taken more, Jaskier had not. She isn’t lying about the food having to be thrown out by morning unless she chooses to leave it over the cook fire. But with three young children that seems like a dangerous idea even with the coals banked. More hesitantly than he would like, he does refill his bowl one last time. He’s near full, and it’s a good feeling. It’s rare while they travel that he has enough to eat without having to burn excessive amounts of energy on hunting. When no one says anything or even pays him any mind, he relaxes and allows himself to eat.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier’s hand is comforting on his leg, and the small house is warm from the cook fire. His belly is full, Roach is fine, he’ll take her with him tomorrow but he has a feeling she was glad of the rest just like he was. If he’s being honest, he could head back to the small room and go to sleep right then and there, with the sun barely set.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>When the children burst back in to clear away the rest of the dishes, he doesn’t startle, but does lean into Jaskier just a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Let’s sit by the hearth. I’ll have enough light to see my lute strings by,” Jaskier says cheerfully. As if his intent isn’t to get Geralt somewhere he can sit and feel warm and relatively safe. The children shouldn’t get too close to the flames which means he should be safe on at least one side from inquisitive hands and minds.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>By the time everyone is settled and Jaskier is beginning his tale, fingers softly plucking the lute, Geralt is happy to sit by the flames and let his attention wander. The children had tried asking him several questions and he had mostly given them one-word answers until Roderick rescued him from the boys by putting them to work. Ivana, free of any such tasks, had chosen to take up residence in his lap again. She’s warm and small, and mostly what she wants is for him to hold her while she rests against him. It’s easy enough to do. She does occasionally decide she would like to be held different ways, and finally settles against his chest, head on his shoulder as she fusses with his medallion or his hair in turns.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Occasionally she kicks her legs a bit, and while she can’t hurt him, he’s trying to anticipate her movements and every time he thinks she’s done she’ll jerk again. Half convinced he’s going to drop her on accident even with his witcher’s reflexes he closes his eyes and wills himself to be calm. He hasn’t had this much exposure to any children since he was one, much less one this young. Finally, she falls asleep and he breathes a sigh of relief. He glances over to see Jaskier watching him, trying not to laugh as he keeps the two boys entertained.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Unsure of what to do with the toddler now that she’s asleep, between her and the fire he’s almost too warm. The only downside to his mutations that he can see is difficulty regulating temperature. Most of it won’t kill him or even endanger him to speak of, but it can make his life uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Roderick gets out of his chair to take his daughter, “I’ll put her in her bed,” he smiles, amused at the situation. Poor witcher had looked so confused and worried, but he’d handled it well and been more than patient.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>As the boys start to tire next, Melina ushers them off to clean their teeth and go to sleep. She has a feeling that Geralt needs something or he’d already be back in the bed upstairs. Once the children are gone, he relaxes more, physically stretching out by the fire to tap the toe of his boot against Jaskier’s leg. The bard lightly nudges him back, and Geralt leans back on his palms, letting his head tip back and his eyes close.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>When Roderick walks back over and sits heavily, he sighs. “We could pull up more chairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“We’re fine down here, I suspect,” Jaskier knows he speaks for both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Tomorrow,” Geralt clears his throat hesitantly. He tries to avoid eye contact with anyone as he works through what’s in his head, to make sure it comes that way out of his mouth. “I will need to bring gear; in case I find the wyvern. If I think it is real,” he pauses. How to explain? “There are potions a witcher takes…” He has no intention of letting them see him like that, black eyed and pale as poison pumped through his veins. “I will look different, if you see me.” Sweat breaks out across his forehead and he hesitates again, but no one does anything to hurry him along or indicate frustration. Being allowed to speak like this and work it out properly is almost like a drug it feels like such a relief. “I will be uglier,” he says delicately, not wanting to say monstrous. “It doesn’t change me,” he finishes. He’s not sure he said what he meant to.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He knows he did something not quite right because he can see Jaskier frowning at him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“The boys would be thrilled I’m sure, to see whatever all those effects are, but I have a feeling your intent is to be far away from us before you take those potions,” Roderick points out, and Geralt grunts in wordless agreement. “Are you just warning us in case they don’t wear off before you get back?” Another noise serves as an affirmative response, the taciturn man on the floor clearly all talked out. “Well, I’ll make sure to check for you before I fire an arrow into the brush then, I tend to shoot first ask questions later, but seeing as how you’ve sat at my table and the law of hospitality holds, I’ll make an exception tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt snorts to show he knows it’s a joke, and glances at Jaskier before jerking his chin in the general direction of the attic room.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I’ll be up in a moment,” Jaskier promises, and watches as Geralt drags himself up off the ground to disappear silently up the stairs. “His hearing is… very good,” he tells them, after seeing another look pass between the couple. Whatever they want to discuss, he can’t stop them, but he sincerely hopes it’s nothing that will hurt his friend. “What he meant-”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I think we took his meaning fine,” Melina tells Jaskier softly, with a sad smile.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Thank you,” he says, unsure of what to do or say. “I’ll see you at first light then, odds are Geralt will already have Roach saddled and ready before any of us are even awake. So don’t be too shocked.” He pauses a moment or two and sees the fat cat looking at them in the darkness. “If you see eyes like that, but at your eye level, it’s just Geralt,” he warns them. Just in case they bump into him before the sun is fully up. “First time I saw it I didn’t know and screamed,” his voice is pained and they know things had not gone well. He glances up and has a feeling Geralt isn’t necessarily listening, but he could hear if he wanted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The witcher had tried to explain several times that he could choose to focus his hearing, thereby blocking out other sounds, without entirely losing track of all the noise around him. It sounded impossible and awful and Jaskier had started routinely asking if he should carry willow bark or other pain relievers in case the noise and general susurrus started giving Geralt headaches. Geralt mostly rejected the help of medicine but would tolerate massage and Jaskier had found himself pressing fingers into various sore spots and massaging gently until the pain improved. It had been a sign of trust, one Jaskier had been oddly humbled by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all ‘good nights’ have been said, Jaskier heads up the stairs. He’s unsurprised Geralt is still awake. As is his preference, he’s shirtless and Jaskier assumes under the sheet he’d pulled up that he’s only got on his smallclothes. He doesn’t sleep that way on the road, but if he feels secure enough in an inn that seems to be how he’s most comfortable in the non-winter months.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Their bags are on a small uncluttered side table and Jaskier appreciates Geralt has taken out the clothes Jaskier prefers to sleep in already. Changing without preamble, he can see Geralt is waiting for something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need me to ask, or can you tell me?” which ultimately ends up being a question but gives Geralt the option to tackle it in his own way. The witcher silently holds up the comb Jaskier had used to brush out his hair earlier. He’s far too tired to keep talking and he feels oddly lost. This home is too full of love for a monster like him, and he feels ridiculous trying to fit in and play human. When Jaskier takes the comb from him he starts, having forgotten he’d even held it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t have to,” Geralt tells him suddenly, hunching down in the bed. He shudders when Jaskier pulls the tie from his hair and gently finger combs out the white strands before starting with the comb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would do this every night if you wanted,” Jaskier promises, kissing Geralt’s shoulder. “This is soothing for me, too,” he reassures the other man and wishes he knew what had him so out of his depth. They’d stayed in stables, and barns, and slept in the fields outside of people’s homes before, shared meals with strangers, it wasn’t as if Geralt had never been around families or people before. Slowly, Geralt relaxes, the tension draining from his shoulders and body as his breathing deepens and Jaskier smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt allows himself to be eased into the bed, and grunts in annoyance when Jaskier pokes at him until he rolls onto his stomach. He’d felt loose, calm, almost floating and now the sensation was gone. Perhaps if he just stays still it will come back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t attack me, but I’m going to straddle you,” Jaskier tells him gently, slipping a leg over his hip and settling on him. Slowly and carefully he slides his palms up Geralt’s back on either side of his spine, feeling the knots and tension under his hands. While it would be easier if he got up and got some kind of oil he knows Geralt won’t like sleeping on the sheets that way. He had frequently complained about different oils making him feel dirty all over again in the past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only rolls his palms up Geralt’s back a few times, smiling when the man under him breathes a soft sigh. “This might hurt, I don’t know,” Jaskier warns him, kneading a bad knot between Geralt’s shoulder blade and spine. Initially, Geralt tenses in discomfort and Jaskier feels him deepen his breathing and then force himself to relax. When the knot rolls, Jaskier gently massages the surrounding area and moves on. He does his best to match what he does on one side to the other and finds himself genuinely pleased to feel Geralt melting into the bed under him. He finishes, probably sooner than the witcher would have liked, kneading the tension out of the base of his skull.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As smoothly as he can, Jaskier shifts off of Geralt, and settles into the bed next to him, pulling the blankets up around them both. Utterly unsurprised when Geralt shifts them around until his head is on Jaskier’s chest and their legs are tangled together, he puts an arm around Geralt’s shoulders and falls asleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I think whumpweek starts July 1st, so keep an eye out for that one, I am going to try and keep up with it if you like reading my fics... Good news is this fic is almost completely written, I'm on chapter 9 (it might end up 10. &gt;&lt; I'm sorry.) so it shouldn't interrupt the weekly update system. :} </p><p>Hope everyone is doing okay. Be safe out there, friends.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Canon typical violence. <br/>Very very vaguely almost attempted assault.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks as always to ahh-fuck for editing. I don't know what would happen without you. </p><p>Thanks to those of you commenting &lt;3 you are the only reason I'm still working out the ending.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt stretches out like a cat, pulling away from Jaskier as he slowly wakes up. He’ll need to get Roach ready as well as his own kit before Jaskier even needs to get up. He’s surprised to come downstairs and see Melina awake in the kitchen. He’d heard movement but he hadn’t truly expected to find her preparing breakfast. She smiles at him in the dim light of the candles and tips her head to the side, indicating the table.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>There’s fresh tea, and what he thinks are corncakes of some kind with a bowl of honey waiting. He quickly counts out the cakes and doesn’t see many and looks at her in confusion. Surely her husband will eat more than one or two. She smiles at him and indicates that she’s making more. It occurs to him that this is all for him. He would have just eaten a few apples and pulled some food from his bags.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Touched, he realizes he’s staring at her and sits down to eat. He’s been smelling apples long before they reached the farm and he’d started to tune it out. It comes as a bit of a shock when the cake he bites into has warm apple and spices in it. His eyes close in pleasure, and he eats a second before pouring himself a cup of tea. Grateful it’s not some sort of vile herbal blend like what the elves use, he adds a little honey to it, enjoying the warmth and sugar this early in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>When she comes to sit with him, he pushes the plate of food at her and she shakes her head. “I ate first,” she tells him in a voice barely above a whisper. “I always do if I’m up first, to make sure the food is coming out well before I feed it to anyone else. And if I have to test a few of them first, who’s to know?” she smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders how she feels, sitting with a witcher in her dark house, alone, at her table. She doesn’t smell of fear, and her heart rate is normal. When she picks up a mug, she smiles when he picks up the small kettle to pour for her. He can see clearly in the dim light and some part of him worries she will spill and burn herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like them?” she indicates the food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods and takes another one before looking around. The cat is watching them from a corner and he grimaces slightly. “Tired?” he asks her, concerned she’s woken too early just to see to his needs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Ivana woke me up fussing, I’m surprised you slept through it,” she tells him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He considers this, and wonders if he had or if he hadn’t. Plenty of noises had woken him during the night but he had simply registered them as ‘not dangerous’ and gone back to sleep each time. “Knew it was safe,” he tells her, knowing just one more word would make his sentences sound more normal. It’s odd to talk about himself, regardless. ‘I’ and ‘me’ are dangerous words. Selfish words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles more warmly and holds her hand out on the table. He knows what she wants and happily places his hand in hers, letting her squeeze his hand and hold onto it. “I’m glad you felt like you could rest,” she tells him so sincerely he feels that pain again in his chest. Rather than examine what it is, he takes up another cake, happy to eat. She drinks her tea, holding his hand until she’s done. Mug down, she covers his hand with her now free one, and holds it for a few moments. “I hope Roddy’s right, and it’s just people being drunk and foolish. I hope it’s not a wyvern, and I hope it’s not mercenaries turned bandits. I hope it’s not something ugly come to our little town,” she tells him intently. “I hope you find nothing, even though I wish you a bountiful contract somewhere that isn’t in the backwoods by my home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows there’s more to this, and so he waits, watching her in the dark. If he knew she was looking right at him with his eyes reflecting the candlelight just like her cat’s he would have been so shocked he wouldn’t have been able to move. She’s so unafraid of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if it is something, I hope you kill it. I hope it doesn’t so much as scratch you, and you can come back, and eat at my table, and we can all rest easier knowing we’re all safer for having had you here. Come back safe, bring my husband and boys back safe,” her voice shakes a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” he tells her firmly, putting his hand over both of hers, feeling a bit like he’d sealed a pact of some kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, and should you ever pass this way again, even if my boys are grown and I’m long in the ground, this farm will welcome you, do you understand? They will know, and they will teach their children, and you can tell any other witchers you meet. Should they mind their manners, and maybe sew up a shirt or two, we’ll feed them and give them a place to sleep. I can’t promise the attic room, I don’t know what my boys will get up to, or what their wives will want, or what houses will be built here if they both choose to stay, or if Ivana will want the farm, I have no magic to see the future, but I promise you, you have a place to go that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels incredibly odd, and his throat squeezes shut as his eyes burn. She squeezes his hand and releases and he lets go of her and allows her to pull away and check on the second round of breakfast intended for her husband and Jaskier. He finishes his food, permits himself a half a cup more of the tea and stands up. “Dishes?” he whispers to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave them, I’ll reuse the plate and rinse the mug. You’d best to get ready, Roddy will be up soon. Which means the boys will be, and unless you want them fussing as you try and saddle your horse, you’d best get to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods and ducks out into the darkness. He can see the change in light and knows the air will be grey before he exits the stables, and by the time they’re on their way, the sun will be visible over the horizon. Roach is happy enough to leave the barn and walk around a bit, and he enjoys the way she flicks her tail and nuzzles him. He plans to take an apple from the tree before they go, knowing she’ll enjoy it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he walks back to tie her to the post by the door, he checks to make sure she can’t reach any of the apples on the ground. No good to have her get sick eating rotten fruit. He waits with Roach after he picks a few apples. He can hear Jaskier and the children inside the house and he’s glad he’s outside. Roderick’s deeper voice quiets the boys at least, and Geralt fidgets with Roach’s mane, checking her over again for anything that might be wrong. She snorts and rolls her eyes a bit, tossing her head and chewing her bit. His fussing is aggravating her. He stops. His swords are secured to her saddle, his chest of potions and elixirs is secure, too, he has food in the saddlebags just in case, and a sack to bring proof he’d killed the wyvern back in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He intends to hunt it at night, if he finds real evidence of it, but just in case, he’d rather be prepared. There’s quite a bit more to-do with getting two boys out of the house. Roderick plans to walk Geralt to the general area the bodies had gone missing at, then show his boys around the fields a bit to show them where they’ll start plowing, and then take them to get the oxen hitched and start on the field from the day before. There’s other things he’ll be teaching them about the soil, the quality of the grain, but all that interests Geralt is the general direction he needs to go in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s surprised when Ivana comes running out shrieking his name demanding he wait. Geralt stops, turns and walks back to her, crouching down to keep himself at eye level. She holds out a bag and Geralt offers her his odd little half smile. She grins back, informs him for what must be the thousandth time that his hair is pretty and tells him “The sun makes it shiny” as if that’s somehow extremely important, and then runs off back to her mother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt inspects the small bag and looks up to the window to see Melina give him a little wave. It’s more of the apple cakes and he waves back. Jaskier had said they could start walking without him, he’d catch up and it’s true enough. He clicks his tongue and Roach follows him until she’s close enough he can grab her reins. A lot of the ground is soft and the idea of riding her and twisting one of her legs makes him anxious, so he doesn’t mount up. Usually he likes the vantage point and comfort of knowing she’d kick anything in the face for him without hesitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’ll be alright, Geralt,” Jaskier tells him, noticing the way Geralt is watching his horse’s hooves more than anything else. “She’s handled far worse, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt huffs in disgust and steps up his pace to keep even with Roderick, listening with half an ear to the conversation he’s having with his sons. Jaskier lets him step away, knowing he’s worried about a lot of things and isn’t in a mood to be comforted. He’d initially been worried their conversation had been what put Geralt on edge, but he’s taken wonderfully to the new situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s fairly sure the source of Geralt’s unrest is Melina. If Geralt had sensed anything wrong with the pregnancy he would have said something, so it was probably just nerves. The poor witcher was acting like he thought the woman was going to pop the baby out any minute, not almost a year in the future.  The woman is also entirely too observant and empathetic, Jaskier thinks, for Geralt to have any idea what to make of her. Not many people could pick up on Geralt’s moods within months of knowing him, forget a few hours. Although, Geralt had been a little more open, both with his body language and his facial expressions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing him laugh had been something else entirely. Jaskier hasn’t mentioned it because he knows whatever comes of the conversation will hurt them both. But he hopes one day the witcher will feel comfortable laughing with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk for a ways. Jaskier loses track of time, but the sun creeps up into the sky little by little as they go. While he knows they haven’t walked an hour, it’s certainly been close to one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hereabouts, I think. My land ends here. The fence fell down a few months back, I came out to look it over, then heard some odd tales about some men going missing. I haven’t personally gone into the woods. This is Melina’s father’s land, and I didn’t grow up on it. I tend to stick to our borders rather than accidentally cause a ruckus,” he smiles. “Never sure who owns what, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt tilts his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know from Mel there’s some kind of lake, and around the lake there’s a cave, or a few, I’ll be honest when we talked about her wild hoyden days I wasn’t listening too much to the part about where she was doing the skinny dipping just that she was doing it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a lift of his brow, Geralt tries to convey amusement and some kind of understanding. He knows Jaskier is busy with the boys and is glad the bard has been keeping them occupied. Should all go well, he intends to try and pay some attention to them, he’s mostly been focused on their sister. Not always by choice, but he didn’t have the ability to focus on three children.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Roderick clears his throat. “Point is, if anything anyone says is true, there’s a wyvern living in the caves, and the people who want to go swimming in the lake get killed. Et up. It’s not too far from here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Horses,” Geralt says suddenly, looking around. He closes his eyes, trying to focus. “Shh,” he hisses and the small group goes quiet</span>
  <em>
    <span>. “Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he says with feeling, heedless of the children near him. With quick movements he has the small chest open and pulls out a potion from it and looks back at Roderick. “Don’t forget, it’s me,” he says intently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t, Geralt,” Roderick looks tense and gasps lightly when Geralt downs the potion and almost instantly his skin pales and his eyes darken. “Oh,” he can’t help himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hide the boys,” Geralt tells them, grabbing his sword.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt?” Jaskier asks him and then they can hear the scream from where they are. The witcher is gone, he can cover a few miles in tricky terrain quicker than his horse can, and she’ll protect Jaskier and the children.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god, Mel,” Roderick moans, starting down the way they’d come. Jaskier grips him by the back of his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t get there quicker than Geralt, you can’t. And he won’t need your help, you’ll just be in his way.” Jaskier feels shaken, he’s never seen Geralt take a potion to deal with humans. But he’d said ‘horses’ before getting incredibly tense. “We need to make sure your boys are safe from whatever’s going on down there, and then we’ll see about getting into the thick of it.” Jaskier glances around. “Boys get up on the horse. Let’s go.” He knows a few of Roach’s more specialized commands and he debates sending her off to seek safety knowing she’ll return when she hears Geralt’s call. It doesn’t seem like the best idea, not if more bandits might be about.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Where can we take them, Roderick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s some screams that reach them, but nothing as high as a woman’s shriek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mel,” he moans softly, then shakes himself. “My daughter,” he whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you would like to do something about any of it, we need to get going,” Jaskier points out tensely, checking the saddle bags and pulling out a dagger and belt that he buckles on quickly, shifting the blade within easy reach of his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boys, you stay on that horse and you do whatever I tell you, or so help me -if we live through this and I find you’ve disobeyed me, I will tan your arses so bad you won’t sit for months. We’ve never beat you, but I swear today would be the day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yessir,” their faces are pale from Roach’s back and the terror is evident in their wide eyes. They end up halfway back to the farm, moving at a much quicker pace. Roach’s reins are tossed over a branch, the hold is light enough she can break free and run if she needs to. Jaskier gives her a string of words in both Elder and Dwarfish that more or less tell her to stay and guard unless she’s in danger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay on the horse, if she bolts, you grip that saddle and you stay on. She’ll keep you safe,” Jaskier promises. “Trust her to come back. She’s a smart girl, she’s well trained, and she loves Geralt. She’ll come back to the farm to find him whether he calls or not, do you understand? Stay on her no matter what, she’ll look after you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, the two men head down, Jaskier finding himself forced to keep a level head. Roderick wants to rush into the fray and Jaskier knows Geralt would kill them both later if they did. If they get into his way, or get themselves hurt, or worse, get Geralt hurt… His heart in his throat, he goes as quickly as he dares, forcing them both to seek cover when possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt had made it in time to stop the men from dragging Melina out of the house. She had not once looked at </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> with fear, and he had seen the relief and welcome in her eyes the moment she saw him. It’s like she had hoped he would come. It makes no sense. One of the men attacking her pisses himself when he sees Geralt’s face transformed by potions and fury. The fear on that man's face is what Geralt expected to see. Usually, it bothers him. This time, he's glad of it. The man who had Melina by the hair dies first in a spray of blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Inside,” he tells her, “Close the window,” he doesn’t want her to see him like this or see him kill people. He doesn’t want her to take back that moment at her table, or the trust she had letting him hold her daughter or go out with her sons and husband to look over the land. He pirouettes away from a badly swung blade and the owner of the weapon dies. He scoops it up and throws it, barely taking time to aim. As long as it hits it doesn’t much matter where or how deep. He’s thrown it hard enough the force alone is enough to kill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes him a few moments to realize this isn’t just a small group of a few poorly fed stragglers. This looks more like a mercenary unit gone rogue. The men on the ground are easier to kill, and while he knows he’s taking some scratches he can’t feel anything. The elixirs take care of that. He dances in and away, sliding past as he brings the sword up in a reverse grip to block a blow and then striking out so hard, he ruptures the windpipe of the man attacking him. The snap of a string and he catches hold of the falling man, using his body as a shield, the arrow thudding deep into the dead man’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spins and whirls, taking on more men than he would have if he hadn’t been desperate to keep them from the house. He can hear Ivana wailing inside, terrified by the noise and the fact someone had been coming to hurt her mother. At least he had stopped it. He knew he’d stopped it. He finally finds one of the bowmen, he knows there’s more than one, and takes a dagger from a dead man’s belt to throw, ending one more life as he brings up his sword to block another blow, hacking and spinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bolt of a crossbow snaps across the air and he hears it, but he can’t turn in time and protect himself from one of the mounted men. He turns to limit the chance it will pierce an organ and takes the arrow through the meat of his shoulder. Satisfied the bone hadn’t been struck or shattered, he shifts his sword to his left hand and continues to defend himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snaps the fletching off the arrow when one of the men circles him, hoping to test him and see if he’s tiring. Reaching up behind himself he pulls the bolt the rest of the way through his flesh, ignoring the blood flowing, and puts the arrow through the man’s eye into his skull. He doesn’t stop the motion until he feels the metal scrape bone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s only a few left. Vesemir would beat him for not assessing the situation first, and for not keeping track of how many enemies he faced. For all Geralt knew some had gotten away or ran off to find reinforcements. Or were simply hiding and waiting until he dropped his guard. Breathing deeply, his abilities enhanced further by the potion, he lets his eyes half close, trusting his other senses. Drops, picks up a dagger, throws it, and hears it thunk into flesh and bone before he’s moving again. If there’s another archer, he’d rather not resemble a pincushion before this is over. He can’t tell how much of the blood splattered all over is his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright then you bastard, let’s see how much fight you have left in you,” one man steps forward. Geralt nods, wondering what the ploy is. It has to be some kind of trap. They’ve barely spoken other than curses or death cries, it seems odd one would try now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man he’s facing is fast, not much smaller than Geralt, but a little broader, his head shaved and his beard neatly kept. Geralt assesses how he holds his blade and knows the man in front of him is well trained. Perhaps a disgraced lordling or bastard son, a knight, something more than a typical bottom barrel thug, at the very least. Not like the other men he’d cut down within minutes. As their blades clash, Geralt pirouettes away again, keeping his pace uneven. The point had been to be unpredictable, let the enemy’s momentum carry you about, use them against themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s starting to tire, elixirs or no elixirs. He grunts when something hits him in the back, not sure if it’s a rock or a blade, perhaps another arrow. He’d worn light armor, rather than don it all.ost of it is still strapped to Roach’s saddle, for all the good it does him. He hadn’t expected to face a large group of murderers so early in his day. He’d expected to take Roach past the tree line, gear up, and go hunting a wyvern he didn’t think existed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bit like a bait dog in the ring, aren’t you? Too stupid to know you’re already dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The word burns like fire across him and he gets in close, takes a small cut as he deflects the blade with his arm and thrusts his own sword into the chest of the man in front of him. Panting lightly, he turns. Panic grips him when he sees Jaskier and Roderick, they’re close enough to get into trouble, but too far for him to protect them and keep anyone from getting into the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two men attack him, and he drops when he hears a bowstring snap, taking advantage of the fact the arrow goes through one of his assailants instead of him. He cuts the other man down, a surprised look still on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns in time to see Roderick bash a rock into the archer’s head, the man so focused on killing Geralt he hadn’t bothered to look around. Gasping, he checks the clearing, quieting his own breathing to listen. Are there any left? He looks carefully and doesn’t see movement that would indicate human life. He can hear Jaskier’s heart, Roderick’s, Ivana has stopped wailing but she’s alive and so is her mother…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Melitele’s tits,” Roderick whispers, taking a proper look at the scene in front of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s hurt,” Jaskier says tensely, knowing Geralt hasn’t beckoned them over because some part of him is sure they aren’t safe yet. “Behind you!” he screams, knowing it’s too late, there’s no way Geralt could possibly deflect the arrow, and yet somehow, he does. He must have heard it before the bard saw it, his sword snaps it away and he throws it to stick into the man in front of him. Bastard had been hiding behind the side of the house. Geralt walks over, and Jaskier can’t stop the moan that pulls out of him. He can tell Geralt isn’t alright. All the same the witcher prowls the perimeter of the house, leaving bloody footprints as he inspects a few of the bodies, and then looks over at Jaskier, eyes still black as midnight in his face. He nods once, and his legs crumple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mel!” Roderick shouts. “Mel start boiling water! We’ll need bandages!” He runs to the house to check on his wife and daughter. Reassured they’re both unharmed, if shaken up, he runs back out to help the bard. “Can you call the horse back, bring my boys in? They… they shouldn’t see this, but I don’t want them out there alone in case there’s more of these bastards…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I threw up the first time I ran across a massacre like this,” Jaskier says blandly, hands searching under Geralt’s clothes for injuries. The witcher is so soaked in blood the bard can’t be sure what’s his and what isn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They line the roads with elves and those who helped them, new bodies every few weeks it feels. These corpses aren’t my first, although they’re the freshest. I threw up the first few times.” Roderick straightens up for a moment, “This wasn’t much of a massacre, Master Bard. This was self defense plain and simple and we both know it. Twenty armed men take on a lone man with no armor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your boys, give me a minute, we’ll need what’s in Roach’s packs anyway,” Jaskier sighs. “Go out to meet them, cover their eyes or something. I’ll whistle, she’ll come.” He ignores the worried look Roderick shoots him. “Geralt, where are you hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoulder, back,” Geralt tells him, blinking rapidly. He doesn’t feel good. The elixirs always make him feel like he’s dying, so it’s frequently hard to tell how bad things are. He’s still restless from them and wants to sick up but he can’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bard gives his best piercing whistle and hopes Roach will hear it. Geralt winces, squeezing his eyes shut against the sound. “Okay, let’s get you back up on your feet, can you stand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, we’ll get you inside, or so I hope, and we’ll start putting you back together, alright? That sounds good doesn’t it?” The bard looks at his bloodied hands and takes a breath. “Melina, we’re coming in!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door bangs open and she steps out, “Here, let me help,” and the next thing Jaskier knows they’ve got Geralt up out of the dirt and onto the kitchen table -now empty of all its herbs and other pitchers. There’s a ratty cloth on it, potentially to keep the table clean, he’s not sure. It’s damp and warm and Jaskier knows it’s been boiled to sterilize it. “Ivana’s locked in my room. She’s kicking up a fuss but she’ll be alright,” Melina tells Geralt, watching as he looks around the room. He shuts his eyes in relief and she’s thankful she’d found the source of his worry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier helps Melina strip Geralt out of his shirt and pants, and he hisses in surprise at some of the cuts decorating Geralt’s body. The arrow is the worst he can see, and he immediately puts pressure on both sides, pushing down hard. Geralt groans and twists slightly, not putting up much of a fight. With Jaskier well able to keep the bleeding in Geralt’s shoulder under control, Melina starts cleaning the witcher up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve seen worse,” she reassures both witcher and bard. “Growing up on a farm? I’ve seen quite a few nasty things. And before we moved to the farm, I remember my Ma helping patch up the neighbor lady after her man went after her. This isn’t so bad,” she promises, keeping up a steady stream of soft encouragement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My kit,” he tells Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, it’s coming, soon. If Roach heard me, at least. Tell me if you hear the boys or Roderick and I’ll go out and get it. You need the black elixir, and the blue?” he hazards a guess, trying to remember what Geralt used. Usually when they’d needed them, it was dark out and he just held out bottles at random until Geralt told him which one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Black and clear,” he corrects. “Pour the black one in the wounds, drink the clear,” he instructs, fighting to stay conscious. “Back hurts,” he complains again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am aware, but you weren’t bleeding too badly and so we’ll get that mended soon, alright? I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have some healing herbs and salves, I can make some poultices, if there’s any infection after we do up the stitches. We might be able to start closing up that shoulder wound,” she tells Jaskier who gives Geralt a pained look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s afraid to try it and find out it won’t help and they’ll just have to reopen the stitches to pour in the elixir. Of course, if they wait too long, or Roach didn’t hear the call, it won’t much matter. “Let’s try it on some of the smaller wounds, see how he does?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” she agrees, patting Geralt’s arm before dashing off to grab a basket full of small pots and herbs. She carefully works it over the cuts in his leg and bandages them before going over the ones in his arms. The bard watches in shock as the redness around the wounds seems to fade instantaneously after the application of the salve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt shifts, pain making the world a haze around him. “Jaskier,” he presses. “My back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright, we’ll turn you, let us stitch up your shoulder, first. But that’s next, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roach,” he breathes, and it takes Jaskier a second to understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s here? I’m off, I’ll go get your witcher’s kit, I’ll be right back,” and he dashes out, leaving Melina to press the wound from the arrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She adds a bit of her own healing salve, and sighs. “Don’t laugh, Master Witcher, but my Ma always told me the salve didn’t work to full strength unless you sealed it with a kiss,” and she presses one to the side of the wound in his shoulder, fingers pressing the skin together. When she pulls away, and gently lets her fingers release the wound, it stays closed. She knows at best it’s a temporary fix without stitches and takes a breath. “I haven’t put stitches in a man in years, not since Roddy gashed himself out with the axe one winter, so try not to make me any more nervous than I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can tell he’s mostly in and out, not much for him to focus on or pay attention. He’s clearly barely hanging on. By the time she’s finished stitching the wound, Jaskier is back inside and rushing over with the chest of potions. He goes through it quickly, coaxing the clear potion down Geralt’s throat. Melina is vaguely aware of Roderick bringing their boys in, their shirts up over their faces as he ushers them into the room with their sister, telling them not to come out till they’re asked to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to turn him,” Melina tells her husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then we’ll do that, and I’ll start dragging the bodies to the side. I’ll take the horse to town, bring the alderman and see if there’s a bounty on any, and if nothing else have them all dragged off so they’re not going to stain our front walk forever, nor scar our children. I don’t want them as fertilizer, either. Better to go in unmarked graves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” she tells him grimly, and the three of them turn Geralt onto his front as gently as they can. The back of his shoulder is barely bleeding, and an ugly hematoma spreads across his lower back. “Go,” she tells her husband, they won’t need him again for a bit, and she does want her yard cleared. The children don’t need to see any of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Jaskier says softly, and then pours the requested potion into the wounds as directed, only for Geralt to writhe in pain, moaning softly again as he tries to fight through it. “You’re alright! You’re alright, it’s the potion you said to use, you’re going to be fine!” The bard gently holds his head, trying to reassure him. “I’m here, I’d never let anyone hurt you if I could help it. I’m here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re foaming,” Melina tells him in a worried voice, gently exploring the wound in his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sometimes they do that. It’s horrifying, but he never seems to take much harm from it. In spite of what I might think will happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we stitch him up now?” she asks, uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When the hissing and bubbling stops, I think so, yes.” He strokes Geralt’s hair making a face at all the blood matted in it. “Stitch it up, correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Salve, too,” he rallies long enough to request. “Felt good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will note that.” He moves as if to kiss Geralt’s cheek and stops, pulling away and wishing he didn’t blush like a tomato when he was uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s plenty of salve,” Melina reassures Geralt, having barely heard him. She does note Jaskier’s aborted attempt to kiss the witcher and she smiles at him. “No one in this town will have any problems with you or </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> Geralt,” she tells him clearly. “There might be some who harass him for being a witcher, I’ll admit,” she works steadily to keep mopping blood off Geralt’s back and sides as she speaks, “but no one will much mind that you’re both men. The village healer has lived with her wife for decades now. One of the best hunters has been with his man for years. We have plenty of problems here, but no one much cares who you’re bedding so long as it’s willing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bard stares at her for a moment before looking down. He licks his lips oddly as he keeps an eye on the fizzing arrow wound in Geralt’s shoulder. “How long have you known?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The minute you stopped me from shaking his hand,” she smiles at him. “You two aren’t exactly subtle, in spite of what you might think.” She frowns at the wound in Geralt’s back and sighs. “I just feel like something’s wrong with this one,” she says half to herself. The blood is dark and unhealthy and she looks over at Jaskier. “Is he conscious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt,” she tells him softly, moving closer to his head. “Geralt,” she watches his eyes slit open. “I think there’s something in there, and I’m going to check, see if I can pull it out. I might be wrong, I just… it feels wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurts,” he agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suspect it does feel quite awful,” she agrees, gently patting his good shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He usually won’t admit to anything hurting him,” Jaskier tells her. “I’m afraid it’s hit an organ or something, the way he’s acting about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just have a feeling something is wrong,” she shrugs, and cleans her hands again. After a few moments of dithering she carefully explores the wound, spreading the salve into it as she goes before her face tightens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something metal, barbed, I think I can unhook it without tearing him up worse. I just don’t know if I can pull it out without tearing up some of the muscle, no matter what I do. If he was one of our livestock, I’d just slit the cut up further, to make it easier, but this is different. We don’t intend to cook him up and serve him for supper, so I don’t want to damage him worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pull it out,” Geralt grunts, turning his head to look at her, pupils narrow to slits, face unnaturally pale. “Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Already hurts,” he grumbles, dropping his head back to the table with a soft thunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t do that,” Jaskier frets, smoothing a hand over Geralt’s hair in reassurance. He carefully adds some of the salve to the shoulder wound before eyeing Melina oddly and pressing a kiss against it just like she had on the other side. Can’t hurt to try it. When he releases the edges, they stay together and he stares. Perhaps there is some magic in it.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am posting early because after... an entire night of no sleep and what I assume was food poisoning, an unpleasant experience with ticks and spiders, and much other suffering, .... I then travel tomorrow which disrupts my usual posting schedule. <br/>So. Ta-da. <br/>I look forward to your comments, and knowing how you felt about the chapter. :} I have... 2 more written? And then it's time to wrap up. Thanks guys. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for all the encouragement. I think this is going to be a 10 chapter fic. Bleh. I have 9 written, it's edited. It'll go up next weekend. Thank aah-fuck when you have time. <br/>Whumpweek kicked my ass because I speedran it in like 2-3 days. <br/>So I don't know what's going to happen in terms of updating because I don't intend to write anything this week. :P I intend to take a break. </p><p>So, the tldr: you'll get your usual weekend update, and thank you very much for commenting &amp; giving kudos.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier finds himself mopping up far more blood than he’d expected as Melina shows him a small barbed piece of metal. “I haven’t seen anything like that before,” Jaskier tells her quietly, taking it. Somehow, she had gotten it out of Geralt’s back without hurting him any worse than he’d already been. The wound is stitched, salved, and bandaged. The deep bleeding under his skin seems to have partially reversed at the application of Melina’s salve.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I’m going to make up some tea,” Melina tells them quietly. “And fetch Roddy, we’ll get Geralt upstairs where he can rest, and I’ll get the table cleaned up.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“You- I can help get things cleaned up down here.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I have a feeling that our Master Witcher will sleep better with you nearby. Not to mention if he needs something, you’ll be nearby to help him with it. He shouldn’t get up for a while, at least.” They’d gotten him mostly clean and bandaged.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“He’ll want a bath the minute he’s allowed to have one,” Jaskier tells her with a smile. “I have a feeling more of what I’ll be doing is taking a cloth and wiping at whatever’s bothering him,” he laughs. “There’s a speck of blood on my face and I hate it,” he does a rough imitation of Geralt’s gravelly tones.           </span>
  
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Melina snorts and rolls her eyes at him. “I highly doubt he’d say it anything like that,” she says, feeling her heart still racing. She has a feeling it won’t stop until the bodies are gone and a few days have passed. They had ripped the front of her dress and she looks down, noticing the tear. “I suppose it’s a good thing Geralt handled all the mending earlier, I’ll have some time to decide if I even want to fix this anymore.” She’d rather not be reminded of what almost happened.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“He’s quite handy with a needle and thread,” Jaskier agrees, indulging in the impulse to kiss the crown of Geralt’s head. “I’ll see if I can get more blood out of his hair, so we don’t ruin your sheets.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“It’ll wash,” she tells him, but understands he just needs a moment. She could use one, too. Filling the kettle and checking on her children will help. As will gathering her husband and having a few moments with him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“How’re you feeling?” Jaskier asks Geralt quietly, crouching down so he’s eye level with the top of the table.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Sore,” Geralt opens one eye to look at him. “All unhurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes, you were the only one who took an injury. Melina might have a bruise or two, but that’s the worst of it. How’s your back feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Better,” Geralt grunts, wishing he could get off the table.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“You move and I’ll let her come back in here and give you a hiding,” Jaskier tells him, gently pushing his uninjured shoulder back down when he can see Geralt attempt to shift. “Don’t you dare shift around just yet, let the stitches hold, do you hear me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Geralt huffs in annoyance but stays down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you huff at me, sir,” Jaskier tells him indignantly. “It’s for your own good. You went and got yourself sliced up like a cabbage for stew, not me. So, you hold still for long enough to let everything settle, and then we’ll get you up. I’m sure they’ll want their table back soon enough, as it is!” He does his best to keep Geralt relatively comfortable and calm while he gets as much lingering blood off the other man as possible. His wounds are clean and cared for, which is the part that really matters, but he knows Geralt will sleep easier if he doesn’t feel filthy. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to get your hair clean; we could always just cut it off,” he teases and kisses the end of Geralt’s nose when he sees one eye open in alarm. “I would never, and you know it. How many times have I brushed the tangles and mats out for you, even if it took hours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll clean up first,” Roderick says, and Jaskier looks up, realizing that he and Melina are having a conversation by the kettle. “Then I’ll help get our invalid up the stairs and into bed,” he kisses his wife. “And then I’ll take the horse to town, see if we can get that mess cleaned up. I still don’t know what the fuck happened, Mel. Why would they even attack us? We don’t keep coin, and we’ll share food with anyone who asks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes people are just awful,” she sighs against her husband’s chest. “My Ma always warned me some men were monsters on the inside and human on the outside, so when I was looking for a husband, I should be careful. Sometimes it was the drink that turned them, but nothing would stop a man from drinking, so I’d best see him drunk first. We were just lucky we had a monster killer with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier listens while they move around the kitchen, not taking his attention off his partner. Geralt seems to have drifted into a light sleep, exhausted from pain and injury. He gently continues to try to clean Geralt’s hair. He knows that the witcher enjoys it being brushed and touched, and it will be near impossible to do that if it’s matted with blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He startles badly when Melina presses a mug into his hands. He stands up with a wince, back aching. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “Where’s Roderick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s cleaning himself up. Then he’ll take the children with him to town. Keep them away from all this. We have some relatives in town they can stay with for a day or so. They’ll bring them back some time tomorrow, or the day after. Before he goes he’ll help you get Geralt up into bed, no sense in you risking injuring yourself to carry him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’d walk if we let him,” Jaskier tells her, just pointing out Geralt isn’t that infirm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure, but there’s no reason he should. I’m still not sure some of those other cuts didn’t need stitches, but we’ll see how they look tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than respond, he takes a sip of the tea and feels warmth curl in his belly. The herbs are pleasant, and he immediately feels calmer. “We should get some of this into Geralt. I know he’s fussy about herbal blends, but this might not be so bad,” he smiles, reaching out to touch the other man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt groans and shifts, hearing his name. He tolerates Melina and Jaskier’s help as he sits up, wincing. His back still aches miserably, but he can already tell it’s healing. Comforted to lean into the bard, he accepts a mug of his own, nose wrinkling at the strong herbal smell. He sips it and grimaces but can’t deny there’s something to it. He feels his medallion vibrate slightly, the same way he had when Melina had been working on his wounds. “Magic,” he says softly, wondering if the salve is magic, or if Melina is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No magic,” she tells him in confusion. “Just herbs we grow here on the farm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Magic,” he insists, knowing why his medallion is vibrating. He holds out his hand and Melina takes it, knowing she’s surprised when he presses her palm to the silver over his heart. “Magic,” he repeats, knowing she can feel the gentle vibration now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not in me, I don’t think,” she tells him quietly. He shrugs his uninjured shoulder. “Finish off your mug, and we’ll get you into bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roach,” he tells Jaskier suddenly. “Saddled still,” he tries to slip off the table but warm hands press him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take care of her; you just drink your tea and lie down until I get back. Or sit with Melina if she’s got time. Stay put, Geralt. Don’t be rude and rip all the stitches the nice woman sewed in you, alright? That was unpleasant work and there’s no sense in making her do it all over again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bard is unsurprised that the mare has been tied near some water and grass, but her tack still rests on her back. She wouldn’t let just anyone remove it. He takes her to the barn before removing her saddle and bridle, settling her in the stall comfortably. The bandits’ horses had come back, he’d noticed, and he has a feeling he could catch one or two. Might be good for the little family to have some extra horseflesh. After he removes Roach’s saddlebags, he heads back to the farmhouse. He can come back and brush her down later, or when Geralt’s more up to walking he might like to come and do it himself. With his healing abilities he might be up on his feet again not long after full dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks at the bodies piled up to the side of the house, away from the windows and door – there’s no chance of the children seeing any of it if they were to look outside- and sees one of the horses lipping at a dead man’s shirt. Saddlebags over his shoulder, he picks an apple from the tree as he approaches the frightened animal, managing to snag the reins in exchange for a piece of fruit. He ties the horse up where Roach had been and hopes the other horses might come back to stay with their friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roach is alright,” he tells Geralt, unsurprised to see the children out of their parents’ room and sitting around the table. Ivana is deeply concerned about the bandaging decorating her new friend and offers him her doll to hold. He takes it, absolutely unsure of what to do with it, and when he tries to set it down, she fusses at him so he keeps it in his hand awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier smothers a smile as he goes over to Geralt to help him up. “I think once we get to the stairs, I’m going to carry you, whether you like it or not,” the bard informs him. “I can’t imagine what good it would do to let you split open the cuts across your legs or hurt your back worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, I’ll help,” Roderick walks over, ruffling his son’s hair as he passes him. “Mind your mother, help her put the table back to rights. And don’t upset your sister worse!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yessir,” Anders tells him quickly. He helps his mother gather up Geralt’s discarded clothes along with the ratty old tablecloth they’d set him on to add to the washing pile. Blood wasn’t anything to be afraid of, they’d grown up having to slaughter some animals and field dress others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt protests lightly at being carried when both men lift him together, feeling strange at the foreign touch. It had been easier to tolerate Melina’s hands on his injuries. Many healers had put hands on him across the decades, that was nothing new. Not all of them had some kind of magic, though. Melina has barely any, not enough to need any instruction, he doesn’t feel. Not if she’d lived this long without losing her mind to the Source.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The unpleasant sensation of being touched isn’t alleviated by the fact most of his skin is bare, clothing cut away or removed to give access to his injuries. He feels scraped raw by the time he’s up and settled in the bed. At Jaskier’s insistence, Geralt rolls dutifully onto his belly to keep pressure off the wound in his back. He’d been glad just to sink down onto the mattress and be left alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, in a space he knows it’s safe to let go, Geralt slips into a deep sleep. He is comforted by the fact the wounds Melina treated hurt far less than they normally would and he should be up on his feet again soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ivana was upset he dropped the doll,” Melina tells them, walking into the small room after a soft rap on the doorframe. She passes it over to Jaskier who smiles and settles it next to Geralt on the bed. “If I’d have let her, she’d have come up here to sit with him. I told her he needed absolute quiet and rest, and even if she was being good it was still too much breathing. She’s busy seeing if she can hold her breath long enough that he could rest through it,” her voice is amused as she leans against the doorframe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That must be a sight,” Roderick smiles and kisses her temple, looking back as Jaskier settles the sheets around Geralt’s waist, fussing with the fabric. “I’ll go get them ready for a trip to see my aunt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll kick up a fuss,” Melina warns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They wouldn’t be our children if they didn’t.” Roderick runs a hand over his face and through his hair, rumpling it. “Fuck, Mel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” Roderick clears his throat hesitantly. “We intend to tell the townsfolk there’s no witcher here, that no one’s here. So while he’s resting, it’ll be best if once you hear voices you both keep quiet. Anyone who can kill that many men without dying… I understand it, and I’m grateful. But the alderman or the guardsmen, they might not like it. Will…will he stay quiet up here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As a mouse,” the bard promises. “I will, too. We can remove all of Roach’s tack and things from the stable and bring them up here, what else do we need to hide?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not much, they won’t go in our barn. Privacy and homes are sacred here. No one will be barging in. Not without reason. Mel and I, we wouldn’t let someone come up in here with intent to hurt a guest. It’s safe. We’ll shift some furniture about, too, just in case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The children?” Jaskier asks quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy enough to tell them to keep their mouths shut. They’re old enough to listen, Ivana might be harder, but if we tell her it has to be a secret she can manage. At least until I go to fetch her tomorrow. Her brothers will keep her from slipping up too much. We’ll tell them what to say. That the witcher already left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then, when he’s recovered, he’ll get the wyvern and we can all say he’s a different witcher than the one who killed the men here,” Jaskier suggests. “That could work. He’ll still get some coin for it. Enough to get us further along the road. That should work.” He glances down at the sleeping witcher and sighs. It shouldn’t have to be like that, but he’s glad that these people seem to understand the reality. Of course, there is a pile of dead bodies outside their house. It’s not as if they have a choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The couple embraces again and says a series of goodbyes as Jaskier cards his fingers through Geralt’s hair. Perhaps with the help of some water and a comb he can get any blood out he’d missed. He glances up and notices Melina’s still there in the room. When she walks over hesitantly, he frowns. “What’s wrong?” he asks her, noting her stare down at Geralt’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These are from when he was little,” she says grimly, tracing a thick white line with her fingertip from his shoulder blades to the small of his back. “They’re under all the other scars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He does have rather a lot,” Jaskier’s throat squeezes. He had seen them before and he knew Geralt had mentioned being whipped as a child. He just hadn’t honestly believed it. There had been incidents in his adult life, and he hadn’t bothered to see which scars overlaid each other, because he knew the stories behind almost all of them. The newer lash marks were from a flogging for angering one of the captains of the guard in some town or other. Geralt hadn’t said much beyond that and wasn’t likely to suddenly divulge more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who does this to a child?” she whispers softly, more to herself than Jaskier. “I’ll see my children off,” she tells him, patting Geralt’s shoulder gently before leaving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bastards, that’s who,” Jaskier mutters quietly to her back, and gets up to close the door once she’s gone. Better to muffle the sounds of people moving around below them. He’ll go see if she needs help with anything soon enough, but for the time being there’s nothing to do but wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier removes his boots and then looks at Geralt, realizing the witcher had been tucked into bed with his own on and sighs before undoing the buckles and laces and tugging them off. Now that they’re alone, he also removes the bloodied smallclothes, hoping the staining will come out. There’s dried blood from Geralt’s back left under the fabric and he gets up to fetch a rag and dip it in the small water basin in the room. “Don’t wake up and try to strangle me, alright?” he says to the sleeping man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt barely twitches as Jaskier mops up the last bit of blood and rinses the rag out. He pulls the blankets back up, lightly tucking the witcher in before heading down the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please don’t cry,” he says, seeing Melina standing by her table, shoulders shaking. “Please, it’s going to be alright.” He’s surprised when she allows him to hug her, and he does his best to let her cry herself out. He can’t imagine the fear and stress she must be feeling. He himself is somewhat used to hairy situations at this point and knows it won’t hit him properly until later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt wakes up alone, feeling heavy and sluggish. There’s something pressing him down, and a dull panic settles in as he does his best to wake up all the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We could try something different,” he’d offered, unsure of himself. But it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her collection of phalluses or erotica. Someone who had all those things surely got bored just rotating positions as the mood struck, they needed more, didn’t they? He wasn’t bored but he didn’t want to give her a reason to give up on him. Yennefer had taught him so much about pleasure, how to give, how to take, how to relax into it…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What did you have in mind?” Yennefer arched a brow, somewhat concerned as to where this was headed. She’d seen the book out earlier and had wondered what he’d been doing with it. It wasn’t as if he was an infant and unable to read about such things, he just also had a tendency to push himself in ways he shouldn’t. Usually hunting monsters, but she had a feeling he would translate it into other arenas in his life and this was about to become one of them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I saw,” he cleared his throat, knowing she wouldn’t allow them to explore something new unless he was willing to talk about it. If he was too uncomfortable to speak about something, odds are he was too uncomfortable to be doing it. Or so she’d told him. He felt that she was right since many of their talks about sex had been borderline clinical and he’d felt no discomfort during them. “I saw in one of them, ties,” he wasn’t sure how to explain. He hadn’t known people would tie each other up for pleasure. The majority of his experiences with restraints were overwhelmingly negative and led to pain.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ties?” she had pretended not to understand. Yennefer could reach into his mind as she pleased, and often enough he let her. Right then he would have given anything for her to take advantage of that skill, but she hadn’t. “You’d like me to put bows on you? Or me?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“In a way,” he’d cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Yen,” he hesitated. It wasn’t as if he was some innocent, he had seen things. On accident more often than not – people needed to close their damn windows more often. He had also visited bordellos, he wasn’t some blushing adolescent. “I had just thought, since you had so many books about restraints, that you might like to use some…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“On me, or on you?” she asked, quirking a brow as she looked over her nails. He did better initiating and having a conversation if she wasn’t watching him. Funny how much eye contact while speaking made him uncomfortable, but he could maintain it during sex without any issue.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Either,” he offered. Then thought about it. He’d rather not have her tied up, she was the one who knew more about what to do. “Me,” he told her after a moment. “It’s about control, isn’t it?” he’d asked her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And trust. And enjoyment,” she buffed her nails against the front of her dress. “I don’t know if that’s the sort of change up you’d prefer. I have many books; you might want to look through some others first.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I have,” he told her, tipping his head to the side slightly. It was what he did when he was uncomfortable. Since he had lost the ability to blush, that little head tilt was what he did instead. Yennefer had the feeling he had no idea he did it, especially since he was usually so good at hiding emotional tics in his body language. “I don’t think I’m flexible enough for some of the things in your other books,” he tried to joke.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I could tie you up regardless of how flexible you were, if I had a mind to,” she points out, watching him shift on the chair. He was uncomfortable with the idea she knew, but sometimes lessons had to be learned through experience. “We should start small, if this is something you want.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Only if you do.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t much mind either way,” she’d clarified. Frankly she enjoyed many things in bed she knew he wouldn’t and didn’t mind giving them up when she was with him. There was little to no reason to push him into anything, but she felt denying him the agency to choose was worse than saying ‘no.’ He was just as old as she was, and more than capable of making decisions for himself. Especially in regards to his own body. She unwove the ribbon from her hair carefully and passed it to him. “We’ll start with this.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He passed the white velvet over his hands several times. The ribbon had been woven into her hair, carefully wrapping around the curls and creating a beautiful pattern against her dark locks. It was much longer than he’d expected it to be, not knowing much about styling hair. The texture felt good against his fingertips, satiny on one side and velvet on the other.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yennefer watched him for a while, letting him run the ribbon through his hands. She hadn’t paid much attention to it before, but she was starting to wonder if perhaps there was another avenue they could go down to ‘liven things up’ in bed that he would enjoy far more. He was as stubborn as she was, though, and would pursue this like a dog with a bone until the matter was put to rest.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What do we do with a ribbon?” he asked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wrap it around your wrists.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not much like the pictures I saw.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I said we’d start small.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This is very small.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s rather the point. You could easily break it with your hands if you needed to. You mentioned in the book it said the activity was partially about trust. Well, some of that is you knowing you’re safe. And in control.” She knew it wasn’t going to work. Yennefer privately felt that it would last a matter of minutes before he either snapped the ribbon between his wrists or let go of it and lost any interest in sex for the rest of the night. What mattered to her was that he wouldn’t push for it again, and he wouldn’t be hurt any, maybe just a little uncomfortable.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We can’t tie this to the bed.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And we won’t,” she agreed. “We’ll just wrap it around your wrists, ends in your palms so you can let go whenever you want.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yen…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Maybe I would like you able to let go at a moment’s notice?” she suggested. “Maybe you’re not the only one who matters in the bed?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In response, he wrapped the ribbon around his left wrist, enjoying the satin against his skin. Then he had unwrapped it, flipping it to feel the velvet and see which he preferred. She allowed him time to play with it, unconcerned.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Let me help,” she told him. “That way it’ll be easier to undo the ribbon without you having to twist your wrists around.” It was a simple matter to gently wrap each wrist and pull the ribbon so that his wrists were touching. He held the ends of the ribbon and could let go at any time. “Release and pull your hands apart,” she ordered.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He sighed in irritation but did as she asked, several times. She was waiting for signs of panic, but he hadn’t shown any. Geralt was surprisingly calm. She hadn’t expected him to get this far, if she was being honest with herself. Perhaps it would go well after all. Intrigued, she made him release the ribbon and pull his hands free enough times he was openly frustrated with her before she stopped. “I needed to practice the wrapping,” she insisted, placating him temporarily.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt privately felt that it would be fine. He trusted her, and while he hated being restrained it was Yennefer doing it. And he could release the ribbon at any time and free himself. Nothing like the shackles he’d spent time in, or ropes that he’d been tied with in the past. The rope had been mostly used to hold him during punishments, and the ribbon feels nothing like the rope had.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>People hated witchers in general, and he’d found himself arrested on trumped up charges many times and had spent days at a time in irons. Unpleasant, cold, and not something he’d enjoyed -but also nothing like the thin white ribbon they were going to use. Not to mention his body would be free to move as he pleased, not chained to a wall or whipping post.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They moved to the bed and she bound his wrists with the ribbon just like she had before. They tested it one last time to his great annoyance before he let her bind him. The ribbon wasn’t tight, and it was fragile enough he could destroy it easily. More interested in kissing her, he allowed her to push him back onto the bed and ease his arms above his head.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Something is holding him down to the bed. Or he feels like it is, his whole body feels so heavy. Unable to push himself up, he isn’t aware that he is starting to wheeze. While logically he knows that the potions leave him sick and miserable, it is difficult to hold that in mind in the condition he is in. He has lost quite a bit of blood, and while he will be fine after a good meal or two and enough sleep, he isn’t there yet. Anxiety still flushes through his veins, telling him he has to get up. It tells him he is going to get hurt if he can’t get his body moving, that someone has chained him face down. As panic bubbles up and starts to overcome him, he can feel his throat and chest start to squeeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yennefer had noticed him start to get tense a matter of seconds in. She pulled away but he had urged her back. She knew as well as he did that his arousal had been quenched by the fabric binding his hands together. Unsure of why he wasn’t just letting go and changing his mind, every time she pulled away from the kiss he followed. Rather than wait for him to let her know what was going on -he wouldn’t- she peeked inside his head.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt was convinced if they could just move on with it, he would be fine. Not being able to move his arms while being vulnerable was starting to bring on threads of panic low in his belly and he didn’t understand why. No one was planning on hurting him in this scenario. He had no reason to feel the way that he did. He dragged his hips up against hers, trying to get her to do more than just kiss him. Surely that would make this better, wasn’t that the point? Being tied up while having sex should include some sex, shouldn’t it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She didn’t encourage him physically, and while she let her body rest on top of his as she kissed him back, she wasn’t doing anything. The dread in his stomach pooled and grew, spreading around his other limbs. Was he not doing what she wanted? Or was she planning on hurting him? She never had done anything in bed that had made him uncomfortable before, but this waiting and inaction combined with his discomfort at being bound was not helping.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His cock had gone soft ages ago without him even noticing. He pushed himself up seeking contact but there was nothing there, his bound hands trapping him, pulling him down. He sank further into his distress, beginning to lose the distinction between memory and the present moment. Not again, never again. It was going to hurt. Pain wasn’t to be avoided but it didn’t have to be enjoyed. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sweat started to bead on his forehead and he could hear someone talking to him, feel someone digging at his hands, but he was somewhere else now. Their voice was faint and none of the words made sense to him. Hands tugged on him, and he wished they would just whip him already, if that was what was coming. He couldn’t get his arms free, and he knew the pain was coming, and while he knew witchers shouldn’t be able to feel like this; he was scared. He did not want to risk the permanent muscle damage, the flayed flesh, or just the routine beatings people liked to put him through for being different.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yennefer had tried to get him to let go of the ribbon, even tried prying his fingers open. She’d noticed when he had started to lose control and had tried to bring him back or stop him before it got worse. Finally giving up on getting through to him, she got off the bed and pulled a small knife from her table. He panicked worse when she came back but didn’t resist -she knew he didn’t know she was even there. Putting a hand on his wrist to steady it, she sliced through the ribbon quickly. He jerked hard away from her, feeling the cold blade against his skin.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wild-eyed and distressed, he sat up and scrambled away from her once his hands were free, checking himself for harm. She hadn’t cut him. It wasn’t rope on his wrists; it was white ribbon. Now, two separate pieces instead of one. “The fuck?” he forgot himself long enough to ask.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You panicked. I was afraid you might, and then you did. But I thought you would just release the ribbon. I didn’t think you’d disappear on me entirely.” Yennefer gently reached out and cupped his cheek. “You’re safe here. No one’s going to come in and storm my home and cart you off for being a witcher.” It grieved her to find out that he had been hauled out while sleeping once. Even with his enhanced senses, sometimes he was so exhausted it took more to wake him. Especially when he was injured or sleeping off the aftereffects of a particularly noxious potion.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He stared at his wrists. He had pulled on the ribbon enough to leave lines in his flesh, but not enough to snap it. Unaware of the fact he was panting, he started in shock when Yennefer pressed a cup of cold water into his hands, stripping the last bits of ribbon away from his right wrist. Geralt drank it, trying to ground himself with the coolness against his skin and inside his mouth. Track it down from throat to stomach, but it didn’t quite work.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Come with me,” she told him, holding out a hand. He took it, feeling her skin against his, soft and cool. He followed her without any idea where they were going, barely able to keep himself up and moving. If not for her fingers holding his, he knew he’d be paralyzed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yennefer drew him down the hallway into the study, one of his favorite rooms in her home. There was a new fur on the floor by the fireplace and with a word and a gesture, the logs caught and the flames crackled merrily. It took her a moment to settle him by the flames, knowing the combination of sound, heat, and visual disturbance should help distract him from his memories. As Geralt settled onto the fur he paused, feeling it under his palms. Soft, whatever it was. She felt a moment of relief when his brain switched over entirely, processing the texture and dropping memories of torture like a hot coal. “I’ll be back,” she promised, leaving him to collect himself in private for a few moments.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>A hand touches his and he startles. It’s just a sheet over his shoulders making him feel trapped. He manages to force his eyes open and look around the room. He’s in bed, in the small attic room on the farm. Only it’s not Jaskier with him, it’s Melina. He struggles to push himself into a sitting position.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Don’t get up on my account, please,” she reassures him, squeezing his hand. “Jaskier is cleaning himself up, he caught a few of the stray horses and got them into the barn. He asked if I’d stay with you in case you needed something.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He glances at her, trying to work his way out of the miasma of fear dragging him down. Regardless of what she wants, he forces his body into a sitting position, corners of his eyes crinkling in pain. “Water?” he croaks, gut burning from the potions. At least his face and skin should have been back to normal ages ago. She wouldn’t have to look at him or touch him when he was at his most monstrous. Not that she’d been scared when she’d seen him like that, he doesn’t think. She’d seemed relieved.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Once the water is passed over and he’s drained the cup, he glances at her. She seems distraught. Which is to be expected. The men had planned to hurt her, though, and he cocks his head to the side, breathing deeply and scenting the air. He doesn’t smell anything wrong, other than the bitter smells of fear and general unhappiness. “Baby okay?” he asks hoarsely, wondering if that’s the cause.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“What!? Do you sense something’s different?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Her smell changes and panic spikes and he shakes his head violently. “No, no!” he reassures her, gritting his teeth and wishing he hadn’t bothered to move, everything hurts. Sentences. He needs to talk like she does. “You’re sad, I thought the baby was hurt. I can’t smell a change.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Oh, thank Melitele,” she mumbles, tears running down her cheeks. “No, the baby is fine, at least I don’t feel any different than I did. I don’t think they shook it loose.” She glances at him in shock when he carefully reaches out to squeeze her hand in comfort. She’s been doing it to him for a while now and he’d thought it was the right answer. When he starts to pull away, an apology on his lips she reaches out with both hands to catch his. “I’m so glad you were here,” she tells him, voice cracking.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Utterly overwhelmed, he doesn’t know what to do. Jaskier isn’t there to tell him or rescue him, and Yennefer isn’t there to explain. Unsure if it’s the right thing to do, he holds out his arm to her, offering a hug. She leans into him, mindful of his injuries but still wrapping her arms around him as she sobs. What does Jaskier do when they hug? He can remember, but he’s not sure it’s the right answer in this situation, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to try it. So he tucks her head under his chin and settles both arms around her shoulders, mindful of the stitches pulling. She cries harder, which he’s fairly sure means he did not do things right, but she also squeezes him tighter, so he opts not to move.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Your comments are really what drives the fic, and when I get stumped or discouraged I literally just go back and reread them. (and the fanart I got. That was awesome too. :}) <br/>It's nice to know you guys are reading, and enjoying it. Makes it worth the effort and what is probably sheer torture for the poor beta to go in and try and make it not suck. I am so sorry dude. Y'all don't even know. </p><p>Anyway, point is, we're almost done. The story is mostly blocked out and wrapped up. Hope you're enjoying it. :}</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>LOL thanks guys I forget to update and no one says anything. :P Wow. 8 weeks straight of weekly updates... and I miss one and it's like eh. We didn't care. :P </p><p>As per usual, thank you for the kudos and comments &lt;3 my heroes. <br/>Thank you to ahh-fuck for reading this and improving it. Couldn't do it without you.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Without any idea what to do to comfort her, he had sat there with her, mostly frozen for what felt like ages. At some point it had occurred to him to rock slightly, and that had seemed to help. He was oddly comfortable with how much contact she was having with him, but perhaps Jaskier was wearing him down. Exhausted, Geralt is thankful when Melina pulls away, wiping at her face.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“The baby’s really okay?” he asks her, unable to comprehend any other reason she’d be this distraught.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes, although if you keep asking me, I’m going to think it isn’t,” she tells him with a sniffle. He jerks his head back when she reaches out and then hates himself when she pulls back slightly. Tipping his head forward a little and lifting his chin he allows her to cup his cheek. He feels her thumb run over some dampness on his skin and wonders where it came from. Then her other hand lifts to his other cheek and does the same thing. “Did I press on one of your wounds?” she asks him softly, dropping her hands from his face.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He shakes his head mutely, just as surprised as she is that his eyes are watering. There’s no dirt or sand in them that he can tell. In horror, Geralt lifts his hands to his face, feeling wetness there on his cheeks and he rubs at his eyes to make it stop. It’s ridiculous it should be happening at all. “I’m not hurt,” he tells her, which isn’t entirely true but he thinks she understands what he means.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Melina laughs, “I would say you’re badly hurt, but I suspect what you mean to tell me is I didn’t hurt you?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I’m not badly hurt,” he protests. His shoulder already feels much better. While his lower back still aches, he knows it’s healing. Most of the slices and gashes across the rest of his body have closed and scabbed, they’ll be gone in a few days. It’s somewhat easy to talk to her. “Most of it’s better already,” he reassures her.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Do witchers have parents, Geralt?” she asks, changing the subject.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He tips his head in confusion. “We’re born from people, just like you,” he answers. It’s not what she means, though, and he understands that but he doesn’t know what she’s really asking him, either. “Some of us come from the streets,” he tells her, thinking that might be it. Where they stop being human and start being monsters.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“That sounds lonely,” she tells him and he shrugs. It is what it is. He had the other boys. Those of them that lived. The training masters. People who left marks on his soul he’d never erase no matter how much he might wish to.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“My mother had red hair,” he tells her, surprising her and himself. He hadn’t meant to tell her anything. Even if she’d asked, he wouldn’t have had an answer for her, so he’s not sure where that came from.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Melina smiles sadly and pats his hand one last time. “I’ll go see if some food is ready, I bet you’re hungry. See what happened to your bard.” She leans in and kisses his cheek gently and he stares at her as she gets up and leaves.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He has no idea what possessed him to tell her that or if it’s even really true. Geralt thinks it is, thinks he can remember red hair and a snakeskin headband with a gem in it. Vesemir hadn’t wanted to even tell Geralt her name, but he had. That was all Geralt really had left of his mother, just her name. And now, maybe a memory of her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yennefer had sat beside him by the fire, watched as he ran his hands over and through the fur over the stones, soothing himself. She had brought some food for them. He turned his attention to that, predictably hungry again already. It was nice staying in Vengerberg with her because, if nothing else, he could count on having a full belly and a safe place to sleep.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Settled, he reached out to pull her closer in thanks. “I don’t know what happened,” he admitted.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yennefer glanced at her nails rather than answer immediately. She knew full well he’d had a panic attack. But also knew if she tried to tell him that he would reject it out of hand. Witchers didn’t panic. “A memory grabbed you.” She kissed his cheek. “It pulled you down, something about being tied up made negative memories swarm. It happens to people. No matter their emotional range, people can’t stop how their brains work. They didn’t change you so much your brain isn’t human.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“A memory?” he scoffed lightly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It happens. More than you’d think. And it happened to you. You were back in a cell, or a whipping post, or the keep, I don’t know. I do try not to get into your head.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt shifted uncomfortably. He had lost interest in pursuing this kind of conversation, and without the skills to change the subject, he wasn’t sure how to end it. After a few more moments of fidgeting, he leaned in and kissed her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Very.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not ever going to agree to use ties again.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Good.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt glances up when he hears footsteps on the stairs. Jaskier, this time. Some part of him feels incredibly uncomfortable that Melina had gotten into the room without waking him up. After the potions or taking a bad injury he supposes it’s possible he was just that tired. Jaskier seems unaffected by the herbal tea from earlier and Geralt feels it can’t have been drugged. He’s unsurprised to see Jaskier carrying a tray with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re awake. And upright. That’s not ideal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanting to reply with a sarcastic comment, the best he can do is make a sort of annoyed chuffing sound at the bard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should be resting,” Jaskier points out, coming to sit by the side of the bed. “Your clothes are also ruined. I think there’s no saving them and I know you were out of spares. I’m sorry, love. We’ll have to borrow something unless you intend to ride naked into town.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think so, although you are magnificent. I’ve already asked, by the way, and been told anything in the chests or drawers up here that might fit you is yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not black.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Jaskier gently takes his hand, stroking it. The tray rests at his side, untouched. “I think it will be alright. Besides, once we turn the wyvern over for coin, you can have new clothes made and if you don’t like whatever you borrow, we can return them on the way back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt nods, and leans in to kiss Jaskier. He craves the distraction from the pain in his body. The bedding isn’t soft. There’s nothing pleasant to touch other than the bard.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yennefer pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it well away from the flames. She pushed him flat onto his back, enjoying the way he shifted against the fur under his skin. She knew he liked it, the sensation and softness of it in contrast to her hands. They kissed, and he forgot anything but the sensation of her lips and tongue against his and the press of their bodies weighing him down to the ground under them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She hardly noticed him working her dress loose, more interested in stripping him out of his pants. She knew how badly he wanted her to touch him all over, her cool skin contrasting the heat of the flames and the silky-soft sensations of the fur. He made an odd sound and froze, shame cooling his ardor. Silence was what was required. Silence at all times unless given permission to speak.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t stop,” she told him softly, knowing better than to mention the noise. “I want you,” she reassured him and he responded. The next time his breathing stuttered she leaned over to cover his mouth with hers, trapping the soft moan between their lips. He pulled back again, ashamed at the loss of control. Again. “I would never tell anyone anything about you,” she promised, knowing the deep-seated fear coiling inside him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>The bard moans softly against his lips and Geralt feels his cock stir with interest. He would like very much to leave behind the thoughts and strain of before. He needs to feel something else, something other than hurt and bewildered. And this is something he knows, something that is distracting and good and will make them both feel good. He drags Jaskier closer, reveling in the feel of warm skin against his, even if it is covered in a shirt. Jaskier smells of soap and water, the horses he’d been handling, and of apples. It’s a pleasant blend, nothing too strong or overpowering, and when Geralt pulls back to kiss down his neck and breathe deeply he inhales the scents that belong just to Jaskier and no one else. The scent pulls him away from his own thoughts, and he kisses to the open collar of Jaskier’s shirt, enjoying the noises he’s earning as a reward for his efforts.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Relax, let go,” she whispered, kissing over his chest and down to the vee of his hip. He arched into her lips, all but writhing in pleasure under her. She knew there was no point in telling him not to be afraid, or that he was safe with her. Yennefer kissed and licked her way back up his body to his mouth, capturing another soft barely-there moan between their lips. Geralt hardly reacted to it this time. If she would ignore it, he would.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The moment he was inside her he had said her name. Her hand on his cock guiding him in hadn’t registered, there was so much sensation. Her hands stroked over his body in long sweeps before she started moving her hips. Instinct kept him moving against her, pushing his hips into hers as he thrust up in rhythm with her. He tangled one hand into her curls, the other sliding over her hip and thigh to grip the fur.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She had never seen him give up control like this, his breathing coming in soft little vocalized gasps. Usually he was so silent if she couldn’t read minds she wouldn’t know if he was enjoying any part of what they did together. There was no mistaking his enjoyment now, the way his entire body shook and trembled, gasps of pleasure ripping themselves from his throat.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“More,” he finds himself asking, needing to feel more than just kissing. Jaskier hasn’t strayed from his lips or cheek and he wants him to.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No,” Jaskier breathes, pulling back. He knows it’s not what Geralt wants to hear and he sees the flash of hurt in those golden eyes. “No, we agreed to wait. I need us to wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I need…I need…” Geralt shifts uncomfortably. He can’t leave the room yet, his body aches too much and he can’t wait. Not to mention he has nothing on and walking out of the farmhouse naked to see to Roach isn’t an option either. He feels almost frantic, hands shaking as he grips the front of Jaskier’s shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Here, Geralt, here,” Jaskier tugs off his shirt, remembering the witcher rubbing his face across his chest on several occasions. It had been soothing for him in the past, perhaps it would be helpful now. Tugging his boots off quickly he slips under the sheets alongside Geralt, tugging the other man on top of him. Geralt automatically rubs his cheek across the hair on Jaskier’s chest, the feeling of his stubble catching against the dark hair coupled with the sound it makes giving him something to hold onto.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier runs his hands through Geralt’s hair, letting the pads of his fingers massage the witcher’s scalp. He works loose a few tangles, and takes his time braiding a few sections of Geralt’s hair against his head, not tight enough to be painful, but tight enough to put some tension on the skin. He’s noticed in times of stress Geralt seems to seek out physical sensations, but it hadn’t hit him how much it mattered until just now. Geralt trembles under Jaskier’s fingers as he drags them down from the base of his skull and over his back. Jaskier takes care to avoid any of the recent injuries but finds some knots high on Geralt’s shoulder near his neck and starts to work them.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>While it’s not exactly what he wanted, it’s soothing. Geralt finds his body settling down and the shaky feeling subsiding. It just comes on him sometimes, like that. “You wanted me, too?” he pushes, unsure what’s prompting him to talk so much.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Not like that,” Jaskier tells him quietly, clever fingers finding another tense muscle and working it until it’s pliant and soft again. “I want you when you’re in control of yourself. And when we’re ready, and so many other things. But yes, having you naked and wanting me is very arousing, and I suspect it always will be.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt shifts against his chest and resettles himself more comfortably.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I wish you could let yourself cry, or feel, let it out. I feel like you’d feel better, after.” He hadn’t failed to notice Geralt’s damp cheeks when he’d walked in. He’d just known that pointing them out wouldn’t help either one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“What does it feel like, when you want to cry?” Geralt asks, too tired to filter his thoughts. Jaskier never gets mad at him for asking questions, or for speaking. Not once. Sometimes he got hurt by the words themselves but not the action.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Hmm, well. My chest hurts, aches really. Uh, I suppose sometimes my throat feels sore or tight. My eyes burn or tear, sort of depends on why I feel like crying and how long it’s been since I last cried. It can be hard to breathe, I can feel…well, stressed, I suppose. Upset, frustrated, there’s so much going on that leads to it. And at times, I can feel so overwhelmed, it isn’t even that I’m hurt, or sad, it’s just that there’s so much. If, I suppose that makes no sense, but even times I’m so happy there’s just nowhere for it to go, it has to spill out somewhere…. At its essence it’s a loss of control, I suppose…if that makes sense?” he has no idea how many times he’s repeated himself, or if anything he said was something Geralt could follow.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt nods against Jaskier’s chest, showing he’s heard. He can’t fathom the kind of feeling that would result in crying.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“What makes a witcher’s eyes water?” Jaskier prompts, thinking of earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Dirt, sand, grit,” Geralt shrugs, allowing his hands to travel over Jaskier’s chest as he shifts slightly to the side of his companion. Geralt moves around until his head rests over Jaskier’s heart. His bad shoulder is tilted towards the ceiling to keep his weight off of it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Are you comfortable now?” Jaskier teases, slipping his fingers through Geralt’s hair and gently working the braids loose.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Mostly,” Geralt answers, letting his eyes close in pleasure as the bard returns to stroking his hair. He drags his fingertips from Jaskier’s waistband up to his collarbones and back. It’s comforting to feel the play of his callouses against Jaskier’s hair and skin.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier is glad Geralt is no longer against his groin. He knows the witcher can smell arousal but at least he doesn’t have to feel Geralt lying on top of his cock. Geralt’s palm across his skin is warm and his fingertips are gentle, if slightly rough from the callouses. He has a feeling Geralt is just touching him to touch, rather than an attempt to initiate sexual contact, but it’s still having an effect.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Alright?” Geralt asks, fingertips pausing under Jaskier’s ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Yes,” he breathes softly, hoping the longing isn’t apparent in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Should I stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No, it’s alright,” Jaskier promises.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Really sure, it’s alright, Geralt. It’ll pass. It’s just nice to be able to be with you and be comfortable with you. I’m afraid my body wants more. It’ll be alright, we talked about it. Soon enough we’ll both get more.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I remember,” Geralt kisses his collar bone, then freezes. Perhaps that was over the line. Instead, he nuzzles Jaskier’s cheek lightly, lifting himself up a little higher so he can kiss the corner of the other man’s mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He climaxed with her name on his lips, needing her. She followed a few moments after, glad he hadn’t left her behind. She knew his preference was that they finish as close together as possible. Geralt was worried he’d shouted her name, it had felt so loud. Yennefer could have told him he’d barely managed to whisper.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tell the voice in your head to stop,” she told him quietly after a few moments. He was wrung out and panting under her. She wasn’t quite done with him, still letting her hands wander his body, her lips following where she pleased.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He froze under her, then relaxed. She knew what he was thinking, she always did when they were this close. She couldn’t help it. She promised to try and stay out of his mind on normal terms, but with his cock inside her it was near impossible. Even after, when they laid together, bodies still trembling, she couldn’t help it. Not that he minded much, not about the sex.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> His thoughts were generally uninteresting in his opinion. Things like ‘more’ or ‘faster’ were probably incredibly dull. He wasn’t aware he frequently also reminded himself ‘stay quiet’ ‘don’t make a sound.’ That voice in his head was a constant susurrus that threatened to deafen him if he paid it any mind.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I didn’t mean to be so loud,” he told her, chagrined.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You weren’t. If I wasn’t inches from you I’d never have heard a single sound you made.” She carded her fingers through his hair, stroking it back from his sweaty face. “Not that it matters either way, Geralt,” her voice softened. “If you feel you need to speak, or to scream, or whisper, that’s allowed. You can make as much or as little noise as you want when we’re together.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He reached up to pull her close, heedless of what she might want. He needed her body against his, warm, and safe. “Am I too quiet for you?” he asked her, body feeling wrung out and satisfied.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, you’re not ‘too anything’ for me,” she had promised. At least not in bed. Not when they were both vulnerable with each other. She kissed him, and he responded enthusiastically. “Am I to take it you aren’t done for the night?” she teased, kissing down the column of his neck as he tipped his head up and let his eyes close.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t have to be,” he replied, voice barely above a whisper. Everything felt so good, and it had been so overwhelming, he was eager to try it again. To see if now that he’d experienced it, it would be less or more than how it had been the first time. She laughed low in her throat when he bucked his hips into hers in response to her kisses. It seemed she was agreeable to another round, too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>`         </span>
  
  <span>Geralt settles against Jaskier’s chest, worn out in a way he couldn’t describe if he’d tried. The bard gently kneads his neck, mindful of how tender the muscles can be when Geralt’s hurting badly enough.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“It had occurred to me, that perhaps the saddlebags of the marauding bastards who attacked us have some spare clothes in them. Would you be alright on your own if I go check? I’m also going to see if any more horses came looking for their fellows. I have no idea how many were mounted, but hopefully it’ll be enough that I can keep one. And they can sell a few here, for whatever the farm might need.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Rather than speak, he carefully eases his body away from Jaskier’s, completely fine with that arrangement. “Wash them first?” he suggests, eyes closed.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I will indeed do that. I wouldn’t want to smell any of them either. When you’re able, I’ll get some water for a bath together, so before you wear fresh clothes you’ll be able to bathe.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt considers several problems with this plan, seeing as how he’d been carried up in his undergarments and didn’t have anything else to wear. He didn’t intend to go back down in a similar state of dress, it seemed inappropriate.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier smooths a hand over his shoulder fondly before leaving the room to go poke through the saddlebags. Geralt vaguely hopes he’ll find some coins. Less time dickering with the local authorities to try and get any kind of money for a wyvern. If there even is one. He’s still not so sure it exists. It would be nice to be able to buy some clothes and find a room regardless of his ability to kill unwanted creatures. He remembers, with Jaskier gone, that he had been hungry and the bard had brought food. Surprised the meal is intact, he finishes it off quickly before falling back asleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For the first time since I've started, I have... nothing more written. /shrug. <br/>The worst part is, I know what all happens, I've known since I started and my hands are like... no. So, I'm going to try and get chapter 10 done, and edited, so it can go up without too much delay. My bad. We'll see.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, uhm. I guess it's 11 chapters. My bad. Either way it's done. Once aah-fuck has a chance to beta it, and I can look it over again, it'll be done. :} So ta-da. </p><p>CW: references to canon typical child abuse, &amp; blood.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>             Jaskier finds plenty of coin in the various saddlebags he rifles through. There isn’t much in the way of spare clothing, but he does find a few shirts and perhaps a pair of pants that might fit Geralt with a little tweaking. His hands shake and he takes a moment to breathe. Geralt is fine, Melina is fine, the boys, Anders and Petyr, are fine. Everyone is fine. He knew it would hit him, he had just expected it to hit later, or perhaps earlier, he isn’t sure. Just, not here, going through a dead man’s belongings.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>It takes him a few moments to collect himself, and he goes back and brings the clothes to wash. That will give him plenty of time to settle and make sure he doesn’t agitate Geralt any when he goes back upstairs. Not that the poor witcher will be going anywhere for a bit, he’ll have to wait for the clothes to dry.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt twists and turns, uncomfortable sleeping on his stomach. Finally, he listens for a few moments and doesn’t hear anyone coming up the stairs. Once he’s realized sleep will continue to elude him, he looks around for something else to focus on and sees his saddlebags. Quietly, he eases off the bed and rummages around the pack until he finds the bag of apple cakes from that morning. They’re undamaged which is a surprise, he’d have expected a crumbly sticky mess. He sits contentedly to eat them. His scalp itches where there’s still dried blood and he idly scratches at it, red flakes dusting his shoulders and the tops of his thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Unbearably restless, he eases his body up again, returning the now-empty bag to the saddlebags and looking around the room. He’s tired but not in a way that’s helpful. Usually, in a mood like this he wouldn’t be injured and could train, or fuck, or go for a ride, or something. Roach is safe in the barn he knows. Possibly she’ll be let out into one of the pastures the next morning, if she’ll go. He paces lightly around the confines of the room, taking time to examine the furniture stored there but hesitant to move any of it. There’s some broken things, here and there, and he snorts at the irony of his sharing a space with the disarray. Broken, useless, covered in dust, unwanted, forgotten… isn’t that what all witchers were?</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Not here, though. Not in this house. Frustrated, he continues to pad around, inspecting the room until he hears footsteps on the stairs. Instinct tells him not to get caught out of bed, and he slides his body back under the covers. While he doesn’t bother to pretend to be asleep, part of him cringes at the idea of being punished for disobeying the order he stay in bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It never felt good to be belted. It was never something any of them sought out. Geralt had, for once, not been one of the instigators. He had simply had to do his best to ignore the howls of the other boy in the small dormitory as one of their training masters gave him a hiding the likes of which he’d never felt before. Geralt, for his part, had wanted to reach out for Eskel or do something, but he knew movement would earn him a beating, too. Speaking up, whimpering, doing anything to indicate he was even aware of the other boy’s screams would be enough to get himself in trouble as well.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And so he did nothing, hating himself for lying there and saying nothing. All that had been wanted was a bit of water after lights out. And here they were. Slowly, he crept his hands up to his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, praying his movements were subtle enough no one would care. That his actions would not be a sign of weakness to be beaten out of him. He just wished he was anywhere but there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I found clothes, and money. And plenty of other odds and ends. I hid some weapons away, they might need them one day. Or be able to sell them. I found a few good daggers, too,” Jaskier says as he walks into the room, two sheathed blades in his hands. He pauses. “What’s wrong? Is your back alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt tenses, sitting upright in the bed, arms wrapped around his middle as he hunches forward. The door just opening, the chatter, they had to be quiet. But if he so much as shushed his companion, he would get it, too. He couldn’t shake the fear he was feeling, couldn’t settle enough to stay completely present. He looked at Jaskier pleadingly, they had to stay quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Geralt, we’re safe here,” Jaskier says softly, not too sure what is happening. He sets the daggers down on what looks to be a small table, and shuts the door behind him. He sinks down to the bed at Geralt’s side, before easing an arm around his shoulders. “We’re alright, what’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt pushes him away, a hand over his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Going to be sick?” Jaskier looks around for some kind of chamber pot and then realizes Geralt isn’t retching. “It’s just us here, and Melina, right now,” he says in a soothing voice. Surprised when Geralt puts a hand over his mouth, he allows it, realizing that the witcher has hit his breaking point. Too much change, too many unfamiliar situations all on top of each other, and then, quite a bit of pain. Even if he wouldn’t admit to it. The potions always made him act oddly and Jaskier had a feeling the effects themselves were unbearable, much less the fallout from them. They always riled Geralt up badly but usually he’d sleep them off. Unsure of how to help, if Geralt doesn’t want to be touched or spoken to, he sits there, and waits.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>After some time, the poet notices Geralt’s cheeks are damp, and the hand over his mouth is trembling. Carefully, he grips Geralt’s wrist and gently eases the hand over his own mouth down, and then reaches out for the other. “Let me have it,” he says quietly. “Let me have it,” and they both know he doesn’t mean Geralt’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt draws in a shaky breath and allows Jaskier to take both his hands. He locks his jaw, clenching his teeth hard. He cannot make a sound. That’s what matters right now. Silence. This time, when Jaskier pulls him in for a hug, he capitulates. He should be the one protecting Jaskier, he should be the strong one. He’s much older, he has more training, and yet he can’t stop his body from trembling violently in the circle of the other man’s arms. None of this makes sense to him and that adds to the stress and discomfort he’s feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Breathe through it, no one can hear you, I promise. There’s no other witchers, Melina doesn’t have enhanced hearing, she’s downstairs tidying up. In a few hours, people will come get the bodies, clothes should be dry, and we’ll get you dressed and properly rinsed. But for now, Geralt, for now, just breathe. It’s okay if it’s loud, what’s loud to you is barely a whisper to most of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>When Geralt draws in another rattling breath, terror leaves him unable to exhale for a few moments, and it isn’t until Jaskier’s hand gently sweeps up his back, avoiding the bandaging that he can let it out. Horrified when his next inhale comes in stuttered pieces, he has no idea what’s happening. He clings to Jaskier’s shirt, desperately trying to even out his breathing. The hand on his back is all he has tethering him to reality and half the time when the hand stills and starts again he flinches, expecting a blow instead of a gentle touch. “Something’s wrong,” he manages to gasp out, frantic to make it stop. “What, what elixir did you give me?” he demands between gasps for air, eyes streaming.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“The clear, like you asked. Black in the wounds, clear to drink. You’re alright. You don’t feel alright, but you are, and I need you to listen to me, Geralt. Stop fighting it. I know that’s not in your nature,” Jaskier rocks him gently. “Stop fighting it, and you’ll start to feel better. It’ll take a bit, it will, but the more you fight it the longer it will take for you to sort yourself out.” He keeps his voice low, even, and as soothing as he can make it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>When Geralt tries to push away again, Jaskier holds him a little closer, and Geralt gives in. He keeps trying to regulate his breathing, and stop his eyes from tearing, none of it makes sense. He hasn’t done anything that would cause either reaction, there’s nothing wrong with the air, he hadn’t just almost drowned… his chest </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts</span>
  </em>
  <span> and that hardly makes any sense either. A moan drags itself out of him along with his next breath and he can’t stop a scared sound from escaping him on the next. He has to be quiet. “Jaskier, I can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he forces out, gritting his teeth and desperately trying to make the weird heaving breaths stop.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“You can, you’re just fighting it too hard. I know, I know, it sounds insane,” Jaskier cards his fingers through Geralt’s hair. “Stop trying to lock your jaw, or force it to stop. I bet your chest aches from it,” he ignores another sob and runs his hand in a small circle between Geralt’s shoulder blades. “No one but me can hear you, I promise. And whatever noises you make, I won’t tell. Even if they try and torture me, alright? Stop. Fighting.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“How?” he snaps, pulling away to glare at the bard, eyes red-rimmed as another shuddering sob rips through him like it’s trying to tear him in half. His whole body shakes as he tries to fight himself, tries to keep anything else from escaping.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Accept that this is happening, and the more you try and stop it, the worse it gets. You need to let yourself feel whatever it is your body wants you to, and let it go. I don’t know how to help you, I’m sorry,” Jaskier tells him gently. “But if you can, just let yourself breathe the way your lungs want to, right now. There’s been too much strain as of late, let your body take what it needs. That’s all you’re doing. It’s a natural process. Let it happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier is utterly unsurprised it takes ages for Geralt to wind down, and that he never really gives in. He’s completely unable to surrender himself to his feelings.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What was Kaer Morhen like?” he had asked once.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt had looked at him askance. “Cold,” his tone held a note of finality. This wasn’t something he wanted to talk about.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Surely you had friends, and played games, larked about, it wasn’t all just training all the time up in the mountains was it?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We ran a path we called the Killer because so many of us died on it,” he snapped, and would not speak on the subject again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>An upbringing like that couldn’t be anything but devastating and traumatic. Jaskier wonders briefly how many decades it’s been since Geralt cried. Properly, just let go and sobbed. He iwas so startled by it now it is obvious he’d forgotten he’d ever done it and wouldn’t let his body take over. The fight completely wears the witcher out and he curls up miserably on the bed. Jaskier just keeps carding his hair gently, humming softly. The humming is more to soothe himself than Geralt.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt glances at him, eyes wide with fear. They have to be quiet. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that whatever happens, he won’t be dragged down with it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Tell me,” Jaskier presses gently. “Tell me what’s going on. I want to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt shakes his head, chewing the inside of his cheek. He manages to hold a finger up to his lips to indicate Jaskier </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stop making noise. Then a moment later he presses a hand to his medallion, wondering what’s set it off. Only it’s still and quiet against his skin and he realizes it’s his body shaking, not the silver.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Concerned, Jaskier gets up as quietly as he can and picks up the washbasin and one of the rags. He can see Geralt picking bits of dried blood off himself almost obsessively. With slow, controlled movements he dips the rag in water, wrings it out, and holds out a hand for Geralt’s. Hesitantly, the witcher looks at him and then extends his arm, allowing Jaskier to lace their fingers together. The tension in his body eases slightly and he stops trembling as the bard wipes his arm down with slow methodical movements. He works around the bandaging across Geralt’s back and shoulders, and across to his other arm. Unsurprised that Geralt rolls over, Jaskier obliges him and runs the cloth over his chest and neck. It’s good that Geralt is able to communicate his needs even when his voice fails him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>After wringing the cloth out again, Jaskier gently wipes down Geralt’s face to get any last traces of blood he’d missed earlier, taking care around his ears and jaw. It’s incredibly difficult not to talk, Jaskier finds, since usually he would have kept up some kind of running commentary. The quiet seems to be soothing to Geralt, and so he bites his tongue to make sure he doesn’t forget the need for silence. The water is lightly tinged pink by the time he’s done, and he supposes if nothing else at least Geralt is cleaner. Carefully, he gets up to put the basin back on the little nightstand before easing himself back into the bed with his partner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Not sure if the witcher is asleep, or just resting, Jaskier eases his body alongside Geralt’s, trying to make sure the other man knows he’s not alone. Not anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           Geralt wakes later, an uncomfortable pressure on his back. Jaskier is gone. His whole buddy is thrumming with something, and he can hear it, it’s so strong. Disconcerted, he twists to look and see what’s pressing on him and slit-pupiled green eyes stare back. He shifts slightly, “Shoo,” he whispers. The animal merely stares at him, and he realizes the cat is what’s thrumming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           When he tries to shift again, the cat gives him a warning growl and sinks its claws lightly into the bandaging. He can feel the tips lightly poke against his skin. When he tries to reach a hand out to see if the cat will move -they usually do, cats hate witchers- the creature hisses at him and swipes at his hand, jostling his wound and sinking its claws lightly into the bandaging for stability.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           If Geralt could convince himself to call for help, he would have. Instead, he stares mutely at the beast. It growls at him again in warning and he drops his eyes. The second he does, the thrumming resumes. It occurs to him after several minutes that what he’s hearing is purring. He’s heard it before; he just didn’t know what it was at the time. Displeased this is how that mystery in his life is solved, he shifts again and the purring stops and he feels the pricks of sixteen little claws press against his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           There are footsteps on the stairs and he feels an odd mix of pain in his chest and what he thinks is relief. Jaskier will know how to get the cat off of him. Also, he can smell laundry soap which means there are dry clothes he can wear, so he can leave the room. If he’s been asleep long enough that the clothes dried, then he’s been asleep long enough his wounds should have mostly knitted together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          “Oh, Geralt, I’m sorry, I thought I’d be back before you woke. I didn’t intend for you to wake up alone,” Jaskier says softly, then wonders if speaking will upset his partner all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           “Jaskier,” he says tightly, teeth gritted. “Get it off me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           “Ah, right, I don’t… I don’t exactly know, Geralt, surely you can just, roll over and he’ll get off you, won’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           “No,” Geralt grunts, too upset to be silent. “Jaskier, please,” he can tell the bard is amused, but Geralt isn’t. Not in the slightest. “It’s not funny,” he whispers, not so lost that he can make himself be loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           “I suppose not, is he clawing you?” Jaskier asks, wringing his hands a little bit. He steps in closer, trying to get a better idea of the situation. His amusement had somewhat dimmed when he could see Geralt was genuinely distressed. He looked almost afraid, which made no sense. Geralt could simply roll over and end the problem entirely. Not that he ever would. Fearless when facing down monsters that would make grown men piss themselves, the witcher has been overcome by a few pounds of fur and some claws.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           “Yes,” Geralt grits out, looking back over his shoulder only for the little beast to hiss at him again. He immediately faces his pillow, unwilling to antagonize it more. Perhaps Jaskier will be able to get it off of him, he isn’t sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            The bard’s gentle approach doesn’t upset the tomcat much, at least not until he tries to touch it. It growls low in its throat and he reaches out anyway, determined to help Geralt. When the cat swipes at him he draws his hand back just in time. “Fuck,” he tries again only to receive another warning shot. “Here, I’ll go get Melina,” he offers. Perhaps she can remove her hellbeast from Geralt’s back. “Is he hurting your wound terribly? He’s sitting right on it,” Jaskier dithers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            “Don’t go,” Geralt says softly, “horses.” Jaskier can’t, they’re supposed to hide. He’d half caught Roderick’s conversation with Jaskier earlier. While he’d been pretty out of it, he hadn’t been completely comatose. “If… if it’s more bandits…” his voice trails off softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            “Should we warn Melina?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            Geralt shakes his head. He doesn’t think it’s bandits. They’re too far away, all he can hear is the hooves and tack, perhaps a cart, voices, but nothing… it’s not like what anyone thinks it is. His senses aren’t what people think they are. He just knows a large group of mounted people are coming. If it’s another attack, they can bring her up, barricade the doors and Geralt can guard the stairwell. They’ll be alright. Provided no one tries to burn down the farmhouse, he can hold the door indefinitely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          When eventually Roderick’s voice calls out, Geralt relaxes and knows Jaskier does, too. He can sense the bard still attempting to get a hand on the cat or do anything to dislodge it, including making little pathetic shooing motions which do absolutely nothing to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         Melina calls back and Geralt hears the door open. He listens intently, trying to keep track of the voices and reactions of the people outside. He can hear Roderick bartering, basically. It’s shocking the kind-hearted farmer can be so practical. Of course, Geralt supposes, he probably slaughters some of his own livestock to sell, he can’t be completely soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>        The bodies are being loaded onto a cart of some kind, he thinks, and he wishes he could see. He shifts his muscles without thinking. The cat growls and he freezes. Jaskier sat down on the edge of the bed opposite, close enough to be near if Geralt needed him, far enough not to make the cat angrier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         No one outside seems to hear and Geralt tries to remember he’s the only witcher within miles. He should be safe here, no one would suspect him. Unless, of course, Roderick was going to turn on them, and turn them in while he was injured. His heart squeezes and he wonders if that’s what will happen. Will those guardsmen come up and drag him out? He didn’t do anything wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>        There’s more bargaining of a kind going on, and he pauses again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         “Take whatever’s on them, we didn’t want to touch the bodies. The witcher who killed ‘em all, he took a horse with him and left. He took some of the gear, not much else.” There was no pretending a regular human could have done all the damage here.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He had been exhausted after a bad contract. They had spit in his face in terms of payment, stiffing him most of the fee. But he’d been too ill to do anything about it other than take what he could and go. The creature had gored him, and while he’d stitched himself up, used his potions, and bandaged himself there was nothing for it but to lie down and rest. He had tied Roach up behind the small traveler’s shack he’d stumbled across. While he knew they were sometimes also hunter’s blinds and other things, he preferred to think of them as safe places he could rest.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Only it hadn’t been. They had followed him to take back what little coin they had paid him. They had set upon him while he’d slept, too exhausted to stir at every sound. He hadn’t been as cautious, then. They’d dragged him out and he’d been too weak to fight. Threatened him, said he’d broken the law for sleeping in the shack, asked about his horse -he had no idea how they missed Roach at the time. Turned out she had pulled up her stake and wandered off. His own fault he hadn’t done a better job securing her, but he’d found her later and been able to ride off and that was what mattered.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She had not liked the scent of blood that had coated him, leaking across the now torn bandages and soaking into his pants and the saddle. No amount of cleaning had ever gotten his blood out of the leather.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Geralt, stay with me,” Jaskier whispers softly, seeing Geralt’s hands clench the blanket. He knows what it looks like when Geralt’s remembering things he’d rather not. Although this seems far more intense than usual and he gently reaches out to grip the witcher’s shoulder, eyeing the cat to make sure he doesn’t upset the little beast. Shifting his body closer, he winces every time Geralt’s body jerks minutely, and knows the memory is a painful one. He has no idea what to do to help, the other man has been struggling badly as of late. Worried, he gently strokes Geralt’s hair, and hopes that everything will go according to Roderick and Melina’s plan.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“We’d just like the coin for the bounty, I saw the posters. I might not read much, but I recognized the faces some,” Roderick pushes. The guardsmen had brought coin, and he had brought the posters himself. Melina didn’t read a great deal either, but they read enough between the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt can hear the thump of the bodies being loaded into the cart and he squeezes his eyes shut. Once the bodies are loaded, will they come for him, too? He’s not as weak as last time, he’s not worn out the same way, either. And he’s not alone. Jaskier is there. Not that he’d let the bard put himself in harm’s way. Fear makes him shift and the cat on his back growls as he sits up. With a large thump the tom jumps off of him and takes an undignified jump onto a piece of precariously stacked furniture.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>The furniture falls, and Geralt puts both hands over his ears before he can stop himself, the noise making his teeth hurt. With a yowl, the cat leaps away, pudgy belly barely clearing the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>All movement outside ceases.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier’s heart starts to thump and he wonders what could be done to cover that up short of shooing the cat out. Only the cat is under the windowsill. “Fuck it all,” he whispers, getting up as quietly as he can to try and catch the beast to evict it from the attic.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Is there still someone inside? You said you were alone out here,” one of the guards says. “Ought to send someone up, Mel, you alright? You’re not a hostage in your own home are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Absolutely not, must be some furniture that fell. We didn’t stack it well when my ma died.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“All the same we’d best check, I should think.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No one is in my home, and I certainly don’t want your men all over making a great mess. Last time I was in town and they searched a home they destroyed it and I won’t have it!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt can hear the fear in her voice, for all he’s not sure anyone else would. She sounds more indignant than scared. Unsure of what to do, he looks over at Jaskier for help and sees the bard approaching the cat from a crouch and watches in horror as the little devil jumps towards the sill and misses, landing with an unmistakable thump. Then, another, and as the men start towards the house in spite of Melina’s protestation the animal finally makes it into the sill, back legs scrambling and the claws bringing down bits of wall and paint.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>The cat hauls his considerable bulk into the sill and flicks his tail as Jaskier drops silently to the floor again. He can only watch in horror and wonder how much trouble the cat is going to get them into.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Ah, Mel you left the attic door open again, didn’t you?” Roderick says. “That’s what fell, the damned cat got up there. I told you a thousand times, I did, keep the door shut. Now I’m going to have more work fixing the furniture up there.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I’m sorry Roddy,” she says tearfully. “I’ll go fetch him right out, it’s all my fault,” she adds.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Jaskier snorts and then looks over at Geralt. As if Roderick would ever talk to Melina like that and mean it. Quite the couple. The witcher is still curled in the bed with his palms flat over his ears, eyes squeezed shut as tears roll over his cheeks. The bard looks around for a few moments, trying to see if there’s anything in the room with them that would help or indicate why his companion is in such distress.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt hunches away when Jaskier crawls into the bed again, and flinches when warm arms wrap around him gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They hadn’t meant to. It had been an accident. They’d just been playing and had broken the pitcher. He and Eskel had frozen guiltily the minute the clay hit the floor and shattered. They both knew it hardly mattered that it hadn’t been intentional, it would be treated as if it had.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It was my fault,” Geralt whispered to him, immediately taking the blame even before they’re caught.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I started it, I was the one who started it,” Eskel whispered back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No reason for them to strap both of us, I’m the one who hit the wall and bumped the shelf.” Both boys had practically vibrated with fear as they heard measured footsteps approaching. The minute the door opened Geralt spoke, “My fault.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eskel had been directed to leave as Geralt was told to strip off his shirt. They had shared a look and then Eskel had fled. There was nothing he could have done. At least this way one of them would escape unscathed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier can hear Melina’s footsteps on the stairs, but he has no way of telling her not to enter the room. He pulls the sheet from the bed up over Geralt’s shoulders and wraps his arms around him again, holding him close. To keep up the ruse it looks like she’ll have to come get her cat.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Roderick’s voice floats up to the window, “I keep saying we should get rid of the beast, too fat to be a mouser. But my wife’s attached, you know how women are. Maybe we’ll use some of the coin to get a decent barn cat.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>A few of the men outside with him grumble and chuckle, agreeing with Roderick about the vagaries of married life.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Melina pushes the door open quietly, takes in the scene. She is startled for a moment before remembering her task. She goes quickly to the window, waves to the men outside as she heaves the overweight animal into her arms with a soft grunt. Then she carries him out, shutting the door behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>For once, Jaskier is grateful Geralt is so quiet. A single other sound or bump would lead to discovery and Geralt is in no shape to defend himself. He does his best to soothe the other man, rocking him gently and holding him. Tiny crippling sobs rip their way out of his chest, and Geralt pushes his face into Jaskier’s shirt, unable to bear the misery alone.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He slowly pulls his hands away from his ears, fastening them to Jaskier’s shirt in desperation. There’s just too much. Too much pain, too many feelings to even try to process them all. His body hardly hurts anymore, for which Geralt is grateful. Not that physical pain bothers him much. But the emotions, those are unbearable. When another sob rips out of him, he claps a hand over his mouth in horror.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“It’s alright, it’s alright, you’re being very quiet,” Jaskier promises, feeling the shifts against his chest. “No one can hear you but me, I’m here. I’m here, and it’s safe. Sounds like everyone rode off.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>When footsteps come back up the stairs, this time Melina knocks first.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I rather think we’re fine here,” the bard calls.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Is there anything I can bring you?” Melina asks through the door.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“No, I don’t think so. We’re alright, thank you so much for hiding us.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Of course. I’ll get supper made and if you don’t feel like coming down, I’ll leave some to keep warm on the hearth.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Lovely, sounds wonderful. Thank you!” He waits until he hears footsteps go back down. The noise had not helped Geralt in any capacity and Jaskier sighs softly as he feels the witcher tremble harder against his chest. In as quiet a voice as he can manage, “It’s all over now, love. It’s alright. You can let go, no one here’s going to hurt you. That horrible cat is gone, we’re alone, you’re safe. I wish I could help you more,” he whispers softly. “After all of this, and maybe a little more sleep, I’ve got clothes you can put on, and we’ll get you downstairs to have a nice soak. If your wounds have healed enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>When Geralt does nothing to indicate he wants Jaskier to stay quiet this time around, the bard begins to hum softly. He hovers in the lowest part of his range, gently rocking back and forth until Geralt slowly begins to calm in his arms. Near silent sobs still escape him and the bard understands that for Geralt, the loss of control is more frightening than whatever set off the tears in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Finally calm enough to take stock of himself, Geralt draws in several slow, shuddering breaths. “Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I’ll say,” Jaskier agrees pleasantly.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Feel awful,” he croaks, his head and chest aching.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“That can happen when you let it buildup too much, that’s alright. Nothing some water and a good meal won’t fix,” Jaskier smiles, kissing the top of Geralt’s head. “Here, let’s try the clothes on, and I’ll go get the water basin again, mop up your face. That’ll help. Oh! Don’t rub your eyes like that, you’ll just make them redder. Stop, stop let me help,” he hops up quickly to bring back the cloth and water and wipes Geralt’s face down gently. “See? All better now, no need to grind your knuckles into your eye sockets, of all the things.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>The coolness of the cloth feels good against his skin and when Jaskier sets it down in the basin, Geralt watches him a moment before lifting it up and wringing it out and pressing it back over his eyes. His face feels almost swollen and he’s unsure what to do to make himself feel better. If there’s anything that even can be done.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Here, I’ll hold it, just relax,” Jaskier replaces Geralt’s hand with his own, pulling the witcher back against his chest. He can feel the little ripples of exhaustion run through Geralt’s body, the way his breathing still catches just a little. Gratified that at least Geralt feels safe enough to relax into him, Jaskier kisses the side of his head again. He’d very much like to sing, to comfort both of them, but he knows as raw as Geralt is, it wouldn’t help. At least he can resolve his need to fidget by gently rocking them both. That’s soothing to him and it helps Geralt, too. Relieved, he breathes deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth. “That was quite the close call, wasn’t it? Stupid cat shaking down the furniture. Who knew it could climb stairs! His little belly drags the ground he’s so fat, and he almost got stuck in the windowsill. Fuck, Geralt! That was utterly ridiculous,” he chuckles lightly. “Got us both in and out of trouble, of all the things.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Unwilling to talk, he’s happy to let Jaskier talk at him. He feels exhausted, but looser than he has in days. Wrung out, almost, not unlike the cloth over his eyes. When his head throbs less, he pulls his face away from Jaskier’s hand, taking the cloth and setting it back into the little basin. Lower back aching, Geralt doesn’t much feel like sitting up anymore. Rather than speak, he slowly just increases pressure against Jaskier’s chest, pushing into him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Are you trying to knock me over?” Jaskier asks him gently, easing his body back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt initially nods, then shakes his head. He’s not trying to knock Jaskier over, but he would like it if he would lie down.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Am I at least to take it you would like us to not be sitting up anymore?” Jaskier smiles when Geralt nods, and he puts a hand back on the bed so he can ease himself down without dropping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            Geralt shifts around a bit, until Jaskier settles on his back and spreads his legs enough Geralt can settle between them. It’s unsurprising to the bard, considering half the time they curl up in bed this is how he wakes up. It is nice at least Geralt feels comfortable settling in this way from the start. Jaskier lets his chin rest against the top of Geralt’s head, unsurprised when calloused fingertips travel up and down his side compulsively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           “Whenever dinner is, if you want to stay up here, I can bring food to you. If not, we’ll be able to go down together. For now, that was quite a bit of stress what with the town guard out there a minute ago…” he tries to get a look at Geralt’s face and can’t. Considering Geralt’s hand isn’t moving anymore and is loosely curled against his shoulder, Jaskier is fairly sure the witcher is asleep. “Oh, Geralt. I’m so sorry,” he says quietly into the still room. “I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           Geralt only sleeps for an hour or so, Jaskier dozing pleasantly underneath him. Once awake Geralt carefully withdraws from the bed, gently stretching out stiff limbs. His head still feels foggy and a little achy but that could be the after-effects of the potions. Usually after he takes them, he feels awful.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Take a cool bath,” Yennefer reminded him. “The potions never do you any good, and the heat doesn’t help either.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rather than argue with her, which was always pointless, he did as he was told. The contract had gone off without a hitch and he hadn’t even gotten so much as a scratch. Internally he complained to himself about the prospect of the cold water in his future.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>After he was clean, he had dried off and come to bed with her, enjoying watching her brush out her raven hair. It was soothing to watch the play of light over the silky strands coupled with the sound of the comb running through the curls. Head and body aching, he made to climb into bed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Let me look you over. I know as well as you, you wouldn’t feel it if you had been hurt. Not once you take all those poisons.” She had snorted at the thoughts he’d had about that. “They are too poisons and you know it. They’d kill anyone else. Hemlock and nightshade, snake venom, and whatever all else goes into them are poisons, Geralt.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He waited patiently while she checked to make sure he hadn’t taken an injury he was unaware of. When she was done she’d pronounced him fit and he’d crawled into bed and gone to sleep without a second thought. He’d hardly moved when she joined him later, settling her head against his chest. In the morning he’d awoken with an aching head and touchy stomach.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>               He scrubs at his face a little, feeling rough stubble and knowing he needs to shave. The clothes Jaskier had brought are laid out on the bed and he drags them on. The pants will need a belt to hold them, but he has one. Considering he’s never sure how often he’ll have coin for food, he always makes sure he owns a belt. It’s not as if he can afford new pants when his waist shrinks. Or a new belt, either, so his current one has several holes he’s bored in himself.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Bath?” he asks when Jaskier sits up to regard him curiously.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“We’ll have to see. If nothing else you should be able to dump buckets over yourself. But you might not be able to soak how you like.” With a soft groan, Jaskier gets up and gathers what they’ll need.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Don’t have to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Do you want me to stay away? Because otherwise, I’d like to come. And if you’re well enough after, I have Roach’s brush, too, so we don’t have to come back up.” He pats the bag he’s lifted from their things.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Geralt nods a little, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He’s still not ready to even try to talk. Some part of him wants to try and sneak past the couple down in the kitchen, but he knows that won’t be possible. And that it will be rude. He takes a few steps around the room to make sure the pants won’t fall down. Once satisfied it will be fine until he’s clean and can find the belt he’d had on before the attack, he opens the door and carefully makes his way down the stairs. He can hear Jaskier behind him, and Roderick and Melina talking quietly as she works on dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Oh, you’re alright,” she smiles wanly at him when she notices. He’s so silent she didn’t hear him and he startles her slightly when seemingly appearing out of nowhere. “Are you sure you should be up?” she had sewn him up in a few places just hours ago.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>He hitches his good shoulder and bites his lip for a moment. He’d rather not talk to her.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Just setting up for a quick rinse, and we’ll get a good look at those wounds again. He does heal wonderfully quick, don’t you, Geralt?” Jaskier says cheerfully, gently putting a hand under his elbow to steer him. They both pause when they notice the cat in their way. “Uh, shoo,” Jaskier tries and Geralt takes a small step back.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Oh, he’s harmless, here, I’ll get him,” Melina scoops the purring animal up off the floor and holds him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Geralt winces slightly as they pass, half expecting the cat to lash out at him. All it does is flick its ears in his direction and yawn hugely, showing off impressively sharp canines. He allows Jaskier to keep a hand on his arm, and when they’re in the small bathing chamber he sits on a bench and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. His head still hurts. The potions should be nearly worn off, he thinks, but he’s never timed how long it took to feel better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             They check the bandaging over his thighs first, and Jaskier whistles softly. “They meant to take out your artery, you know. I am so glad they missed,” he gently touches the inflamed flesh. It’s already scabbed over, and healing well overall. “How’s it feel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             Geralt just grunts in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            “Thank you, that was very descriptive and helpful,” the bard teases, kissing Geralt’s cheek gently. “I’ll go pump some water, get some buckets ready. Even if you can’t soak like you want you should be able to rinse off,” he smiles. “At least, we’ll see how your back and shoulder look, but perhaps from the hips down, hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Able to make himself nod to show he’s heard, he can’t make himself do much else. He carefully unwinds the bandaging from around his middle as Jaskier leaves out the back door to fetch water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             As Jaskier brings in a few buckets, Geralt heats the water with igni, unwilling to dash ice water over himself. He sits on a small stool and pours water over his legs and gently wipes them down, feeling much better from that alone. The gritty dusty feel of dried blood, dirt, and sweat is at least half gone. Jaskier looks over the wound in his back and then both sides of the arrow wound in his shoulder. The shallow slices that decorate his torso don’t bother him and are already closed just like the ones in his leg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          “I don’t think the hole in your back is ready for you to soak, but overall you’re looking much better.” He looks at the hideous bruise that decorates Geralt’s lower back. It’s better than it was when they first saw it, at least. The salve has helped. There’s dried blood all over the stitches, and Jaskier isn’t sure it’s safe to get them wet, but he also knows Geralt won’t settle until he’s taken some control back. Cleaning himself will give him that. “Not sure you should allow this to get wet back here, at all. I’ll hold a washcloth to it, and you go ahead and, yes, perfect, there, I think I kept it mostly dry. A little run off shouldn’t hurt it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          He keeps up a steady stream of babble as he keeps a cloth over Geralt’s stitches whenever the witcher needs to rinse himself. He might not be able to help as much as he would like. Geralt keeps flinching whenever he moves to do anything, so he keeps back. By the time Geralt has cleaned his hair, and dried himself, he seems much calmer.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>Once dressed he looks around and sighs. “Belt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Oh, it might still be out there, I don’t… I don’t know what happened with the clothes we cut off you, I won’t lie. Here, I’ll go look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>        While Jaskier is out of the room Geralt takes a few steadying breaths. He squeezes a little more water from his hair and runs his fingers through it to ease out any last tangles. He knows how to take care of it without help. It’s just that he likes when Jaskier does it for him. Sometimes he makes a bit of a mess out of it on purpose to make it take longer when Jaskier is combing it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         “Here we are!” Jaskier says cheerfully enough as he re-enters, holding a simple black leather belt up. Geralt takes it and secures his pants better so they won’t embarrass him and anyone else in the vicinity by falling. “Dinner is ready, by the way, we can eat and then go see Roach after. Or you can go alone, or we can just get to bed. She’s fine, though. I checked on her and stabled her after the fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Geralt just nods numbly and follows the other man into the main house. They eat in relative peace, Melina and Roderick mostly talking to each other rather than trying to engage him or Jaskier. After, Geralt does take the brush and go check on his horse. Roach is fine, as promised, barely a hair out of place. He still gives her coat and hooves a once over, ignoring the ache in his back and shoulder. It feels good to move around again. He stays with Roach for a while, content to watch her rest and nibble on hay. When he feels himself starting to ache too much and his eyelids feel heavy, he rouses himself enough to go back to the farmhouse. It’s dark inside, but there’s a plate left out with more of the apple cakes from the morning. He has a feeling Jaskier told them a candle would be useless to him, he can see in the dark just fine. Helping himself to a few of the cakes, he heads up the stairs on silent feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Jaskier is lying down, but not asleep. Waiting. He hadn’t meant to keep the bard up. Not that it’s that late, he doesn’t feel. He strips out of the borrowed clothes and crawls into the bed, happy to tuck his head under Jaskier’s chin and fall asleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay guys. 1 more to go. Then it's on to other witcher projects. :} Gonna try and get part 2 of what I affectionately (and hatefully) call the longfic up soon. Planning on expanding Monster from whump week, annnnnd starting a new fic I posted random pieces of on tumblr about young witchers. </p><p>Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope you'll enjoy the next one, too. :}</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here it is, the end. </p><p>Thank you for all the comments and kudos. <br/>Thank you to my beta, ahh-fuck, I appreciate it. You have an extreme amount of patience.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The morning breaks over them quietly, birds chirping softly in the trees. Geralt rouses himself first, feeling much better than he had the day before. He cocks his head to listen for a few moments and takes in his surroundings all over again. Melina is down by the hearth, preparing breakfast. He can smell eggs and meat cooking, tea, herbs, and the prevalent smell of apples that wreaths the farmstead. He dresses in the same clothes as before, and heads down the stairs, leaving Jaskier still asleep in the bed.</span>
</p><p> <span>“Good morning,” Melina smiles at him when she sees him. She passes him some vegetables to chop and he gives her his best attempt at a smile back. “How’re you feeling?”</span></p><p> <span>He shrugs in response; he’s fine. When she also passes over a mug of tea, he takes it gratefully. Out of words, he’s happy to watch her move around and cook. It’s peaceful and he feels calm. When she dumps a plate of eggs, potato, and bacon in front of him before sitting across from him at the table with her own plate he starts. He’d gotten lost in the sounds of the house blending with the world outside. The eggs and potato are seasoned and he closes his eyes in pleasure as he eats.</span></p><p> <span>When he finishes, he sees her hand resting on the table and puts his over it without hesitation. She squeezes his fingers gently and he allows himself to sit there and sip his tea while holding her hand. It feels good. Just being human, here, just for a few moments. After a while, when he feels able to, he asks her, “Roderick?”</span></p><p> <span>“Out before the sun. Without the boys to help him he has more to do. Then he’ll head into town to go get our children from his sister,” she smiles. “Promise me you’ll give yourself another day to heal, before you go looking for the wyvern.”</span></p><p> <span>He stares at her in shock. He feels mostly healed. A little stiff, a little sore, but no reason not to go. Unsure of why, he nods. One more day won’t hurt. Jaskier doesn’t seem to mind being here, either. She squeezes his hand again, and he tightens his hold on her.</span></p><p> <span>“I’d rather you healed up before I had to stitch you up again,” she tells him with a small smile. “When will Jaskier wake up, do you think?” she asks him, changing the subject.</span></p><p> <span>He gives her his half smile and shrugs. “Late,” he croaks.</span></p><p> <span>“Well, we’ll let him sleep, don’t you think?” She waits until he nods before smiling. “I was wondering if you’d do me the favor of putting the horses out in the pasture, once you feel like it. There’s no rush.” She knows he’d get up that instant if she let him. Instead, she holds his hand until he’s finished his tea. “Thank you,” she tells him quietly.</span></p><p> <span>Rather than answer he swallows and nods. When she takes his dishes, he knows she doesn’t mean to allow him to wash them. With nothing better to do, he goes to check on the horses. Once he’s looked over hooves for problems with the shoes, or rocks, or damage to the frogs, he checks their ears for mites. Unable to find any signs of disease or ill health, he leads them out of the barn and into the pasture to let them graze and run as they please. There were no stallions taken from the bandits, so he feels comfortable letting Roach loose, too.</span></p><p> <span>He leans against the fence for a while, watching as the small ‘herd’ starts working out the pecking order. Roach mostly ignores them, occasionally nipping at any that get in too close to her as she grazes. Satisfied with the state of things, he hoists himself up onto the fencepost and braces his legs on either side of it on the fence. The trees are full of birds, and squirrels, and there’s mice and other rodents all around. The chickens cluck to themselves as they hunt around the dirt for bugs and scraps, and he watches as one particularly brave squirrel leaps from tree to tree, tail streaming out behind it like a flag.</span></p><p> <span>With a little shudder, he’s glad the mutations don’t cause witchers to grow tails. Even if they were clearly quite useful for balance and control. Lost in watching the squirrels leap around, he enjoys how graceful they seem. Not unlike birds. The wind is gentle, and he enjoys the way it feels moving over his face and through his shirt. When he sees Roderick coming from a part of the farm he hasn’t been on, he lifts a hand in greeting and sees the farmer raise one in turn. After that, Geralt feels content to ignore him. If there’s an attack, he’ll know. Provided there’s a few seconds leeway he can make it in time to protect the other man.</span></p><p> <span>Roderick passes Geralt some time later, not interested in disturbing the witcher. He seems utterly wrapped up in his thoughts and Roderick feels he could use a few moments of peace out under the sky. He and Melina spend some time together, glad their children are safe and they have a few moments of peace and quiet to share. When Jaskier finally wakes, Roderick heads into town to collect his children.</span></p><p> <span>Jaskier shows Geralt the weaponry he’d purloined and they go through it to see what might be usable. Geralt is mostly unimpressed. If cared for the weapons should hold up for one human lifetime, but not much more. Especially if they aren’t used for much of anything. They turn some of the small spears into staffs, and Jaskier knows what Geralt has in mind.</span></p><p> <span>They pass the day quietly, Jaskier eventually taking out his lute and playing. Geralt limbers up and uses his sword for a few forms, feeling much more like himself by the time he’s done. Not even slightly out of breath, he settles next to the bard, leaning into him as he plays. Unsurprised when the singing starts, he’s always liked Jaskier’s tenor. And he especially likes it when Jaskier sings softly just for him.</span></p><p> <span>Lunch is a subdued affair, spent inside. Geralt remembers his sewing project from before and takes it outside with him. Content to work on it back by the fence to the pasture, he occasionally hears Melina and Jaskier talking, but is happy to tune them out for the most part. None of it’s anything to do with him. When he hears the sound of the children chattering eagerly to their father, he ties off the final knot and breaks the thread with his teeth before pinning the needle through the collar of his shirt where it shouldn’t be able to poke anyone. Himself included. Stuffing the project into his pocket along with the extra thread, he needs some undyed yarn for the last touch, and hopefully some buttons.</span></p><p> <span>Ivana is thrilled to see him, demanding immediately that he pick her up. Which he does, his back barely twinging. She immediately finds the bandages under his shirt, and gently pats his shoulder. The minute she realizes her mother is in the house she is out of Geralt’s arms and across the dirt, leaping into Melina’s arms in a matter of seconds. The boys greet her with slightly less enthusiasm, eyeing Geralt with even more awe than they’d started out with.</span></p><p>
  <span>He has a feeling if he gets his way, they’ll have either more awe by the time he leaves, or less, depending on how his plan goes. As Geralt shifts his weight and darts glances at Roderick, the farmer realizes he wants to talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt, a word?” he asks, jerking his head to the side. With no idea what Geralt wants, Roderick isn’t sure how to start the conversation. He’s learned that the witcher is often slow to speak, and patience costs him nothing. So he waits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier saved some weapons,” Geralt informs him, watching the boys hug their mother and tell her about their visit with their aunt. “Teach… teach you, them, a little,” he offers, looking anywhere but at Roderick. He doesn’t want to see the rejection coming if there is to be one, but he feels like he should offer something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think it would help?” Roderick asks him. “If we’re attacked again, could we learn enough in a day or two to actually matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Practice. Lots of practice. Maybe. Give Melina and Ivana time to run. Hide. Maybe just scare off one or two,” Geralt explains. “Some move off, when they find out you aren’t easy pickings.” He shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, well, we ate on the road about an hour ago,” Roderick glances at the sun, it has to be late afternoon. “Think we’ll be alright if we start now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt doesn’t really understand the question but he nods. It’s never occurred to him to wait after eating to do much of anything. But his body doesn’t metabolize his food the same way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier watches with interest as Geralt begins instructing Roderick and his sons on a few basic stances, movements, and strikes. Ivana watches and picks up a stick from the dirt to play along, but overall doesn’t have the interest or attention span to participate. Almost completely silent, Geralt frequently corrects the position of the others’ bodies and feet, shifting an arm, nudging a stance tighter or wider with his own foot, or stepping in to show what the strike would hit on a person. After he’s satisfied the first five strikes are correct, he teaches five basic blocks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same process is repeated, and Jaskier is pleasantly surprised at how seriously the boys are taking it. They don’t complain, or ask questions, and they keep things up until Geralt is satisfied they have the motions down. Then he pulls out the staves and one of the decent swords. There’s far less practice with the weapons, the weight slowing down the boys especially.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every day, practice,” Geralt tells Roderick. “Practice until it’s habit,” he specifies. “Mix strikes and blocks, reverse the order, don’t get caught in a pattern. Good form, move slow, better than learning sloppily,” he gets out, and then shows them how to maintain the weapons. With that done, he shakes himself out again, unused to going back to the simplest basics like that. Itchy for more, something that will be quick, and smooth, he doesn’t want the boys to see him doing anything fancy and attempt it later. Or to think that they should speed up their own practice and learn badly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Roderick tells him, clapping his uninjured shelter gently. Geralt meets his eyes for a moment and nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even Jaskier can stop most of those strikes,” Geralt informs Roderick, glancing at the bard from the corner of his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey now, I’ve watched you for years, and I’ve put up with your sword fighting lessons, I can do a lot more than stop </span>
  <em>
    <span>most</span>
  </em>
  <span> of those strikes. At least from a normal man. Even if I don’t practice as often as you’d like.” He knows he’s being teased, and he knows Geralt wants to fade back into the background. So he puffs himself up and gets up to shake his finger and do the whole song and dance in such an exaggerated fashion the boys howl with laughter. “I’ll show you that I can block all the strikes, so help me,” Jaskier jokes. He rolls a staff under his foot and flips it onto the top of his boot before kicking up and catching it with his hand. He waves it once, comically, and Geralt rolls his eyes a little, but picks up a staff of his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt spins the staff like a sword, a quick moulinet, and he blends the move into a quick overhead strike. Jaskier’s staff comes up and he blocks with both hands and a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See? I remember how to do it. How’s my footwork?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poor,” Geralt tells him. He adjusts his feet with the toe of his boot, then steps back to strike again. This time he lashes out in a strike to the bard’s midsection, and again, Jaskier blocks the blow. They both know Geralt isn’t using his full speed or strength, not even close, but he is moving quick enough that it does take a little skill on Jaskier’s part to keep up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Geralt snaps off another strike this time Jaskier blocks, pirouettes, and strikes on his own, an overhanded blow which Geralt sidesteps neatly, leaving the bard to overbalance slightly. With a light shove of his palm, he sends his companion sprawling. Or would have, if he hadn’t stepped in quickly to catch Jaskier by the back of his shirt and keep him on his feet. “Sloppy footwork,” he tells the bard, raising an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’ve proven your point. See everyone? Practice the basics and keep your feet exactly how he showed you. And you won’t knock yourself over at the very least,” Jaskier gives a little mock bow, tossing Geralt the staff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The witcher catches it neatly and spins it once, satisfied with it. He doesn’t see any point in giving the boys child-sized weapons. If they’re attacked a toy sword won’t do any good. And they’re at the age where they should be growing rapidly. While as children, he and his other yearmates had had weapons appropriate to their size, they had been weighted to build their muscles quicker. This should have the same effect, he would think. Not to mention most of what he’d shown them, they’d all done without anything to hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, before we go wash up, you’d best check us again, right boys?” Roderick sighs. “Then again after dinner, perhaps. Make sure we know what to do so we don’t mess it up once you leave.” He gets his sons to form up, knees bent, feet shoulder width apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt looks them over critically but doesn’t find anything wrong. They won’t ever move like he does, or fight like men born to the sword. But at least they won’t get cut down at the first strike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go clean up, boys, tell your ma I’ll be in right after.” He holds out a hand to Geralt and waits patiently as Geralt figures out what he wants. They clasp hands for a brief moment and Roderick gives him a smile. “Thank you. If nothing else it should help them feel better. The worst part of the way back was hearing about how they should have done something. If there’s a next time, I’ll have to hope they can take their sister and run.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt nods, and watches Roderick go back inside, listening for a few moments as he talks with Melina. When he’s fairly sure the boys aren’t able to see them, he throws Jaskier the staff back, and tilts his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t bruise me too badly, alright?” Jaskier tells him and shakes his head lightly when Geralt snorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Won’t hit you at all,” Geralt reassures him. He has enough control over himself to stop the swing of a simple stick. Idly spinning his, he circles Jaskier lightly, and the bard sighs and turns with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Jaskier presses the attack. He does his best to remember everything he’s ever been taught, and to mind his footwork. While he never comes close to landing a hit, not once, he knows Geralt enjoys this. It’s play, to him. And so Jaskier does his best to make sure he isn’t too boring and enjoys the calm between them as he blocks and strikes until his arms are too tired and he can’t catch his breath. “I yield! Oooh, I’m done,” he pants. “That was good. We’ll have to do that more often, it’s funny how much that wears on one. Might be good for my singing. Oh, oh enough,” he sees Geralt step in as he bends over to let his hands rest on his thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stand up,” Geralt tells him, and Jaskier gives him an annoyed huff. “Breathe better, crush everything up when you curl forward,” he explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And here I thought you were just mad at me for having bad posture,” Jaskier smiles fondly. Forcing himself to stand up with his shoulders back, he lets his sweaty palms rest on his hips. “You aren’t even the slightest bit out of breath are you?” He sighs in jealousy when Geralt shakes his head. “That must be nice. Sorry I can’t keep up with you and give you a proper workout.” He grins slyly and drops his voice low so only Geralt can hear, “At least not yet. Right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt blanches and would have turned red if not for his mutations. While the idea is appealing, and he wonders how good of a lover the bard is all the time; they aren’t alone on the road. Or together up in the attic room. Someone could have overheard. Then he focuses on the house and realizes no one could hear anything over three children washing up to help with chores. There’s so much noise he decides he’s going to stay outside until someone requires him to come in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After dinner, he teaches the boys the same game he’d taught Ivana. It should build up their ability to read body language, as well as their reflexes. Ivana is delighted to play with both her brothers and Geralt and joins them happily. Geralt fetches her doll from upstairs and returns it to her, and she informs him that she hopes it kept him safe. He just nods as seriously as he can manage, and retreats to Jaskier’s side, mentally worn out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melina and Roderick settle their children in bed, and take some time to enjoy time by the fire with their company. Jaskier is quite the entertainer, and Geralt sways lightly with his singing. Before heading upstairs to sleep, Geralt manages to ask for some yarn and the buttons he needs to finish his project. Melina has some to spare and gives it to him with a curious look. He hasn’t shown anyone what he’s doing, and hasn’t told them either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While his borrowed clothes obviously don’t fit, he had been very clear with Melina he could not sew in the traditional sense, so she has a feeling he isn’t trying to tailor anything. Wondering what he might be mending, she moves on from the thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow, I have a feeling he’ll be out while it’s still dark,” Jaskier tells them. “I’m surprised he let himself sit around and heal today. He’s not good about that,” he glances up at the ceiling. He doesn’t care if Geralt hears that bit at all. “It would be better if he’d do that more often,” he adds with feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll make sure our things are packed up, I can’t imagine a wyvern head not stinking up the place. He’ll want to head out towards the town if he’s back early enough, trade the thing for coin. If it’s real. You’ve been very kind, letting us stay. Helping patch him up. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s what we’d do for anyone passing through,” Roderick says calmly. “Not as if you didn’t both pull your weight.” He knows that if the witcher is listening, it’s better to make it sound less like regular human kindness. It’s obviously something Geralt has very little experience with. “We’ll find a place to store all that mess you two saved, mount something in the barn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should keep some of it to hand. Won’t do any good to have to run to the barn when we’re blocked up in the house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep it mounted high where the children can’t reach.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier smiles at them, comforted by how at ease they are with each other. One day, he’d like to have that with Geralt. The easy comfort. It’s not that they lack trust, or the ability to communicate. It’s just that Geralt has such a hard time letting himself be. Jaskier knows in the years he’s travelled with Geralt, the witcher has changed a great deal. But he doesn’t expect decades of untold trauma to erase itself like magic. He chooses to share in the pain, and the hurt, to help carry it when he can. And he knows it’s a choice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so, as always, he chooses Geralt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a soft groan, he gets to his feet, muscles aching and bids his hosts goodnight before ambling up to bed. Surprised Geralt had bothered to light a candle, he doesn’t need one to see. There’s little snips of yarn on the sheet and Jaskier smiles. He won’t pry into whatever it is. But at least that’s the explanation for why the other man isn’t asleep. “Lit a candle for me, love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clumsy,” Geralt teases gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier glances at the candle and notices the comb is out and placed in front. “If I’m clumsy then you’re downright sociable.” He lifts the comb up and raises an eyebrow. “Would you like me to brush out your hair? Or did you just, for once in your life, forget to put something away?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t forget.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can see Geralt chewing the inside of his cheek in the dim light, and takes pity on him. He doesn’t push for a direct answer and instead settles next to him on the bed and starts at the ends. Jaskier keeps it up long after it’s necessary, knowing how much Geralt likes the feel of the comb going through his hair and over his scalp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I think like Roach, I have gotten all the loose hairs out of you, and it’s time to stop for the night,” Jaskier teases him carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt takes the comb and puts it away after blowing out the candle. Feeling relaxed he slips back into bed, curling into Jaskier’s chest. He likes how the bard’s heartbeat helps drown out the other sounds around them. He doesn’t allow himself much of this on the road, or in towns he doesn’t feel safe in. But here, here it’s safe, here it’s warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier runs his fingers through Geralt’s hair a few more times, smiling sleepily when he feels the contented rumble run through him. Geralt pushes himself up to nuzzle Jaskier gently and then kiss him. Jaskier kisses back, blissful that Geralt is still comfortable with him. The touch is soft and gentle, like butterfly wings against his lips. As always, he feels a bolt of anger at people who can’t see past Geralt’s scars to see the man under it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt shifts in concern, pulling back and Jaskier shakes his head. “Not you, nothing to do with you. I’m sorry. You’re very good at kissing, it was just a moment of distraction.” They keep it up for a little while longer, before breaking apart and falling asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he wakes up, Geralt is gone, as are their saddlebags. Unconcerned, he stretches out and notes that the sun is barely up above the horizon and goes back to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next time he wakes, he dresses and heads down the stairs to wait. It’s still well before noon, if he hasn’t missed his mark. Although, if Geralt’s taking this long it’s because he’s found evidence of </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Even if it isn’t a wyvern. He’d seemed utterly unconvinced about it. He sips tea at the table and watches as Ivana plays with her doll and chatters to her mother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melina had informed him the boys and Roderick had practiced their swordplay, and that they as a family agreed he and Geralt shouldn’t just disappear the moment Geralt returned. They could share one last meal. And if it was too late to travel on, another night and they could set off in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if he’ll like that. He won’t want to say lengthy goodbyes,” Jaskier had cautioned her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then we will make do,” she had promised. “But we’d like to make sure you both leave with full bellies at the very least.” And that was that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had helped set up some pegs that would hold a sword or two high on the wall out of the reach of grasping toddlers. Along with some space for two of the spears. The practice staffs were left to lean against a corner of the room. Then he found some space in the barn to hang up the rest of the weapons. While he had learned how to mount things to the wall to hold instruments, the principal was close enough to the same he could make do with weapons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melina had given him the money for the bounty, and he had tried to leave some of it with her. She had refused a single coin. Including any of the money he’d pulled from the saddlebags of the bandits. She assured him that they had no intention of keeping that many horses and selling them, plus the tack would probably earn far more than the bounty would have. Unable to fight her, he brought the coin up the stairs so that Geralt could hide it away however he wanted. Jaskier took some, spreading it out amongst his clothing, boots, and belt, so if his coin purse was taken he’d still have money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As far as he’s concerned, the coin is all Geralt’s and he knows exactly how much he took. When they’re in town he’ll use it to book a room and get some decent meals and travel supplies. Other things that they both need to continue on the road. His own coin he will spend on spare strings and anything else he might need for himself. He understands now that Geralt expects him to handle the merchants and traders because they give him better deals, and he loses less coin. No one wants to trade fairly with a witcher.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why do you always send me to resupply?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“They don’t hate you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah. Right then. I suppose they usually don’t. That’s… that’s true. I… well.” Jaskier had found himself without words. “You trust me with the coin?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can count. I can track. I’m faster than you, stronger, and I’m not …”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, you aren’t stupid. I know you could catch me. I’m just flattered you don’t think I’ll go spend it at all at a tailor’s or brothel. Even if you did catch me, if I spent the money it would be gone.” He had seen the look of consternation on Geralt’s face at his words. “I would never, Geralt. I would never spend your coin on myself. I’ll go get some foodstuffs for the road. Would you be opposed to my buying some dried fruit? The porridge is awfully bland.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Expensive,” Geralt had told him with concern.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not… not really. They up the charge when they sell to you, don’t they?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt’s face tightened and he looked away rather than answer.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I won’t waste your coin, I’ll haggle dearly. But the fruit, if it’s in season and isn’t brought in by traders? It’s not expensive at all.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <span>He will also try and find Geralt some clothing that will fit him better. He knows the other man’s measurements by now, it shouldn’t be too hard to request a pair of pants or two and a few shirts. With as much money as they have from the bandits and the bounty, he plans to buy an extra set or two of clothes and keep them in his pack where Geralt won’t find out about them until they’re necessary. Two shirts and two pairs of pants really weren’t sufficient.</span></p><p> <span>Bored, he gets his lute and plays silly children’s rhymes for Ivana and spends some time with her outside in the dirt, using a stick to teach her basic runes. She’s a sharp girl and while he knows she won’t remember everything; he hopes it will help give her a leg up later.</span></p><p> <span>He occasionally scans the fields, looking for signs of the witcher, and after Ivana grows bored of the letters, he starts composing a new ballad. One he won’t be able to sing. Not without changing a great deal of facts. But here, working out the melody and the words, he can tell the truth. Of the White Wolf who saved a small family from harm. This keeps him busy until he sees the sun glint off of metal and white hair.</span></p><p>
  <span>Geralt might have missed lunch, but they’d saved him a plate. Jaskier starts trekking across the farm to meet him, slinging his lute over his shoulder comfortably. They meet about halfway, Geralt carefully leading Roach around mole hills as he picks his way back down the slope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I can smell it. You found something. Was it what they said?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Geralt said simply enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look… unhurt,” Jaskier says cautiously. Geralt’s armor is intact and he hardly sees any blood on him at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Geralt tells him carefully. The word is still a hard one to say, but he manages. Golden eyes search the field before focusing in on Jaskier. His pupils dilate and he leans in to kiss the other man gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier smiles against his lips, slipping arms up over the witcher’s shoulders. Geralt leans into the kiss slightly, parting his lips to take more. Jaskier obliges, enjoying the feeling of the wind twirling around them, tugging on their clothes and playing over their hair. After a while, he pulls away. “Let’s get lunch, and then we’ll go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt nods and kisses him one last time. It will be good to get back on the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can see the bloodied sack tied to Roach’s saddle. “You’d best do something with that so the children don’t see it, I would think,” he points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. There’s nothing he can do with it out here in the field. He’ll leave it in the barn. If he’s being honest he has no real intention of unsaddling Roach, he plans to get moving as soon as he’s eaten. The farmhouse will always be a place he holds dear in his heart, but it’s time to move on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he settles the horse, Jaskier precedes him inside. Before he goes in, he takes something from Roach’s saddlebags He hadn’t wanted to keep it on his person in case he’d gotten it dirty. He removes the bulk of his armor and leaves it with the head in the barn, then stuffs the object into his pocket before heading into the house. He’s not overly eager to leave, but on the other hand he’s ready for it to just be him and Jaskier again. He’d like to trade in some of the coin they’ve earned for clothes that fit him properly. It’s a rare treat to have new clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not completely shocked they saved him food, and he eats it gratefully. The boys beg him to check their fighting stance one more time, as well as to show them the movements to make sure they really have it. They practiced that morning and want to make sure they did it all correctly. He humors them with quiet patience. Following them outside, they don’t bother with any weapons, and just move as he taught them to. He goes through the strikes and blocks several times just to make sure their muscle memory is good. A few last corrections and he feels confident in their abilities to practice correctly. He hopes they’ll never have to use anything he’s taught them. “Show your sister, if she ever asks,” he tells them firmly and they promise him they will. He’s proud of them for taking the initiative and doing the work. He hadn’t expected that from them, not really. He should have known that the boys would be like their parents. Of course, as memory of the attack fades so will the vigilance, he’s sure.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boys wash up and he takes a moment to splash cool water over his face and neck, drying his face and hands on the hem of his shirt. A few deep breaths later, he plucks up his courage and heads back inside. He has one last important task to complete before they leave. As he looks around the little living area for what might be the last time, his chest feels oddly tight and he chews the inside of his cheek for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deeply uncomfortable, he pulls something out of his pocket and shows Melina. He doesn’t usually do things like this. Even if he had wanted to more often in the past, no one would have taken anything from him as it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d best give it to her, yourself,” she tells him in response and he gives her an exasperated look in turn. She just smiles placidly and turns back to her work. Roderick doesn’t offer to step in, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Disappointed he couldn’t get out of his task, he heads back outside and finds Ivana, crouched in the dirt drawing her name with a stick. Jaskier would be pleased to see she remembered her lessons so well. He hunkers down next to her and leans forward to lightly drag his fingertip through the dirt to write out his own name, next to hers. She looks at it, and lists a few of the letters, tapping them with her stick. She doesn’t remember them all. Nor can she put them together to know what it says. Not yet, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dithers for a while, watching her, and he writes out her name for her, and she smiles delightedly, recognizing it. Geralt tolerates a hug or two, before finally finding the courage to produce the doll he’d made for her from his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He offers her the little white-haired doll with the yellow button eyes and she drags it to her chest immediately. She is absolutely overwhelming in her joyful thanks, and she clings to him and happily babbles in turn, bouncing in his arms. The noise is a bit of a strain on his sensitive hearing, but he does his best to breathe through it. Even if he does pass by again, it will be years from now and she’ll be at least her brothers’ age or older. She won’t be a little child like this when he sees her next, he can tolerate the noise for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t try to recreate his armor, but he did manage to make a black shirt and pants for it, out of scraps from his old shirt. The inside is stuffed with some of the rags and scraps that had been in the mending basket. She looks it over, showing him the little details and wondering at how he knew to sew the seams inside like her mama does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To remind you,” he tells her, not sure he understands what he’s trying to tell her. Or that she will, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His hair is like yours!” she tells him happily. “I have to get my other doll!” Eager to play with the new toy she presses a kiss to his cheek and dashes off. He has a feeling the hair won’t be white for long, but the yarn might wash. The fabric should. He doesn’t use yarn for much of anything, but he hopes it will clean well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear her, inside, telling her mother about the doll and showing her each and every part. He tilts his head and can hear Jaskier, too, moving around inside. The bard had apparently marked out all the runes on some paper, unbeknownst to Geralt, and was leaving them with a small reading primer to help Ivana and her brothers learn. If nothing else it should help them pass the time in winter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unwilling to head back inside, he waits for them to come out. Or for Jaskier to come out and tell him to go back in. A few minutes later, the family troops out with Jaskier and Geralt breathes a sigh of relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell him goodbye,” Melina tells her daughter gently, pushing Ivana just the slightest bit forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have to go?” the little girl asks and he nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” there’s always work to be done. Even if it’s worth less and less coin, and further and further away from people willing to pay for it. It’s all he is. Even if a life like this might be nice, one day. But witchers don’t retire, they die. He crouches back down and carefully opens his arms and she launches herself into them, hugging him tightly. Geralt eases his arms around her, and tolerates all the affection she has to give until Melina calls her off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He has to go, let him go, Ivana,” she says gently, and to Geralt’s surprise the child releases him. While she’s obviously unhappy with the situation, she isn’t shrieking or crying and he sincerely hopes she won’t start. His goodbyes said to the little girl, he straightens, finally freed from her hugs and kisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roderick surprises him with a hug, one he manages to return properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unable to say anything back, ‘you’re welcome’ seems a pitiful way to respond. He just nods, golden eyes searching Roderick’s for a moment before the farmer steps back to pick up his daughter. The boys quickly step in to thank him and he clasps forearms with them, teaching them one of the many ways men say goodbye. Then, both boys give up pretending to be adults and hug him quickly, then step back, embarrassed. Geralt is oddly flattered and ducks his head in pleasure. He sees Jaskier smile and knows he did the right thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only Melina is left. He stares at her oddly for a few moments. Saying goodbye to Melina is harder for him. No one had ever welcomed him like she had. Her family had followed her lead. She had taught him more than perhaps either of them realized, and he would always remember her and her family. All because she trusted him with her child. He swallows hard, his throat tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, he initiates the hug, holding out his arms awkwardly. She steps in without hesitation, mindful of the bandaging still around his middle. Geralt wants to thank her, but he can’t make himself speak. Some part of him is aware he’s holding onto her perhaps a little too long, but he doesn’t quite want to let go. She kisses his cheek and he pulls away slowly. He glances once at her stomach and she smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember what I told you,” she tells him in a tone that brooks no argument.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt attempts a smile and nods to show he’s heard her. If he comes back up this way he will try and pass by the farmhouse. He’d like to see the new baby. Or child, as it might be by the time he can make his way back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roach,” he tells Jaskier softly, and escapes to the stables for a few moments to get his kit together. He gathers up his armor and dons it, securing the wyvern’s head to Roach’s saddle again before walking her out of the barn and back to the small group. He smiles a bit when he sees Jaskier hoisting a bundle of food for the road. One final gift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He weighs several things in his mind and remembers something Melina had told Jaskier while they’d been patching up his shoulder. Just once, he’d like to kiss Jaskier in front of someone and not be afraid. Just once he’d like to know that it would be safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tentatively, he leans over and brushes a soft ghost of a kiss on Jaskier’s cheek and then pulls away. Jaskier smiles at him, heady with the public display of affection. No grand gesture in any poem could match that simple kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They wave goodbye one last time, and Roderick hoists Ivana to his shoulders so she can see them as they pass down the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occasionally when Geralt looks back, he can see Ivana still waving, and he raises a hand every so often so she knows he can see her. He keeps it up until they pass a curve in the road and they’re out of sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier walks beside him for a while until Geralt dismounts, having decided the road is clear. He can’t see or hear anything coming. Feeling safe enough to give up his vantage point, he bumps a shoulder against Jaskier’s and sees the other man smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s smile widens when Geralt pulls off a glove and interlaces their fingers as they walk together. It won’t last, once they get close to the hustle and bustle of other people, Geralt will pull away. But for now, it’s just them and the open road.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hoping you guys enjoyed. :} <br/>Potentially the author can be bribed into writing up a sort of epilogue/final chapter with comments, but potentially the author is going to be too busy to write anything for a while. </p><p>Anyway, thank you guys for the support, the patience, and the comments &lt;3 can't wait to see your thoughts.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Not to be that person, but comments are what keep me motivated. So if you're interested in seeing more, let me know. Makes writing feel way less like screaming into the void.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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